“Huh..,” I try.
“Hu…” again.
My breath snags, catches on a syllable and I swallow quickly.
“Boyfriend” rolls off the tongue like wine on warm skin.
Smooth. Familiar. An old shoe.
“Fiance” trips off in a tutu, twirling for effect, batting its mascara-soaked lashes and smiling coyly in Francais.
But hu…
huh…
husband.
Meet my husband. Oh, my husband isn’t home. I’ll let my husband know you called.
(Whew.) That one that takes a 32-year tongue some practice.
Ladies and gentlemen, the reason they married girls off at 14, revealed.
~~~
[*Obscure reference to Ruskin Bond’s short story Susanna’s Seven Husbands]
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