Tag Archives: wife

Did I Ever Tell You How I Met My Wife?

Disclaimer: this is fiction. This is not how I, David Stewart, met my wife.

That said, this is my 3rd anniversary of doing Friday Fictioneers stories every week, which means I have written 156 100-word stories thus far.

I was having trouble thinking of a good story for this one so I asked the students in my writing class. They told me to write “a funny, horror love story”. Thanks guys, eh?

I got my revenge though, by assigning them each to write a story for Friday Fictioneers. They have their own WordPress blogs as part of our curriculum, so they’re going to post them there. If you want to read them, the links are:

https://bobybangladesh.wordpress.com/2015/12/05/surprising-assets/

https://yuxianadventure.wordpress.com/

https://tmsamurai.wordpress.com/

The last two hadn’t posted their stories at the time I posted this. Keep in mind that they are still learning English and before these stories, they had each written one fiction piece in English.

Now, on to the story.

copyright Roger Bultot

copyright Roger Bultot

 

Did I Ever Tell You How I Met My Wife?

I unearthed her while digging the foundation of a new office building. She lay there, dead but conscious, watching me.

It took me twenty minutes just to ask her name. I was so shy.

It was rough at first; all relationships are. I’m a vegetarian; she drinks the blood of the living. Well opposites attract, they say.

*

That was 6 years ago. We’ve both adjusted.

My phone buzzes. Honey, bring a ssssacrifice home for dinner. I hunger I thirst lol

“Hey Bill,” I say to my co-worker. “Wanna come home for supper? My wife will whip you up, something special.”

 

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The Kiss War

I was lying on the couch reading one afternoon when my wife walked by and blew me a kiss. On instinct, I dodged it. She looked affronted but kept walking. I went back to my book, but several minutes later, I looked up to see her standing over me. Quick as a bullet, she smooched twice and blew them at me. Double tap to the forehead. I didn’t have a chance.

 

lips

War has never been so schmaltzy.

 

I might have let it go at that, but the next morning I saw that she had written 2:0 on the whiteboard in the kitchen.

“Oh, that’s how you want to play, is it?” I asked.

“Bring it on, jerk,” she said. I made as if I was going back for the cereal but then turned and blew her a kiss as fast as I could. She caught it and threw it back at me.

“Hey, no kissbacks!” I said.

“Sorry, them’s the rules.” She smirked and changed the 2 to a 3.

I entered by the garage that day when I came home from work. I could hear her making dinner in the kitchen. I took off my coat and boots and then crept noiselessly into the kitchen and up behind her. She was chopping carrots at the counter.

“Kiss kiss kiss!” I shouted. “Three points for me.”

She screamed and spun around, throwing the knife at me. It shot past my ear and hit the fridge, clattering to the floor. “Don’t ever sneak up behind me! Are you crazy?”

I assured her I wasn’t. “At least I got three points.” I went and changed the tally on the whiteboard.

“Who cares? I almost killed you.” Then she relaxed. “Sorry, you just really scared me. Welcome home.” She gave me a kiss, then grinned. “One more point for me.”

“What? I kissed you back.”

“But I kissed you first, so I get the point.” She went and changed the tally to 4:3, then staunchly refused to let me kiss her until dinner was over.

“We need to make a rule,” I said when dinner was over. “Contact kisses don’t count. I don’t want to be keeping score all the time.”

“Fair enough,” she said. Then she dove behind the table and fired a kiss at my leg. I ran into the hall and for the next half hour we ran around the house like kids, firing kisses at each other. By the end of it, the score was 54:42 for her.

The next day at work was exhausting and I forgot about our little kiss war as I staggered through the door. “I’m home!” I shouted. The house was quiet. I was just wondering where she was when I saw a bunker of couch pillows built in the kitchen. There was a smacking sound and then another.

“Got you!” she shouted.

It was a bloodbath of affection. I was pinned down by the doorway, still in my boots and coat. I had to take them off before I could even get down behind the couch and take cover. I finally charged the kitchen but it cost me dearly and by the time I reached the bunker and we declared a truce, the score stood at 93:44.

I had to end things once and for all. I went down to my workroom that evening and with a box and a length of wire, I started to create my ultimate project. I brought it up as my wife was in the bathroom brushing her teeth and when she came out, I was standing there, box between us, button in my hand.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a kiss nuke,” I said. “15 million kisses at the push of a button.”

“But, but you’ll be kissing yourself too,” she protested.

“I’m willing to do that.”

“There’s no way this house can withstand 15 million kisses all at once. You’ll be kissing all the neighbors with this. I won’t have you kissing the neighbors!”

“Sorry,” I said. “This is the way it’s going to be. Now kiss this contest good-bye.”

She suddenly started laughing. She laughed and laughed until she fell on the floor. I went over and helped her up.

“Come here, you dork,” she said. She gave me a real kiss and a hug and we stood like that for a minute.

“So what now?” I asked.

She looked up at me. “I don’t know. Wanna have a hug o’ war?”


If I Had a Penny – A Poem to My Wife

This just goes to show you never know what you’ll get from the Green-Walled Tower.

Even a now-obsolete Canadian penny [*]

Even a now-obsolete Canadian penny [*]

If I had a penny for every woman I have asked to marry me,

If I had a nickel for every one that I have traveled the world with,

If I had a dime for every woman I have seen and thought that I could spend the rest of my life with,

Then I’d have sixteen cents and I would probably lose that in the crack of the couch.

 

But if I had a dollar for every time I told you “I love you,”

I would seriously wonder who was paying me that money,

And I would feel a little bad for them,

Because I would be a billionaire.


A Ghost of a Chance of Success

A Ghost of a Chance of Success

Honestly, I only tried it because my wife said I couldn’t do it.

She gets me to do all kinds of things that way. “I’ll bet you don’t have the guts to marry me,” she said one indolent afternoon 27 years ago, when the summer crickets were in full concert.

I sure showed her.

The challenges started with the mundane: “Bah, you couldn’t mow the lawn if you tried.”

You’d think I’d learn but I had to show her who was boss. Soon I was doing most of the housework while she watched TV and occasionally called out her disbelief in my ability to do various small tasks that I had forgotten.

Eventually, her challenges crossed over into more exotic realms but I never backed down for a second. I spent most of 2013 trying to build a time machine but eventually just built a very small museum and declared victory.

For this latest challenge, I’ve assembled all the things I might need: a large glass bottle, a tombstone, a Bible, a copy of the Necronomicon (just in case) and a liter of ectoplasm.

Now how on Earth am I going to make a ghost ship in a bottle?


My Secret Wife – Friday Fictioneers

copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

copyright Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

My Secret Wife

“We had a report of some missing Genetico property here.”

“Sorry, it’s just my wife and I.”

“Ah, your . . . wife. How did you meet?”

“eHarmony.com.”

eHarmony, ha! I found her terrified in an elevator shaft. I fed her, taught her to speak, ignored the corporate barcode tattoo on her arm. We may have no marriage license, but the bands that connect us are stronger than gold.

“Is it okay if I look around?”

“Of course not,” I say. “This is my house.”

The door shuts and I see dark, fearful eyes peering from behind the couch.

“It’s safe,” I say.


Just One Step Ahead – Friday Fictioneers

Well, this week I’m on the road again, hiking by myself in rural Korea. I was planning to write this one on my phone, like last week, until I walked into my hotel and saw a computer. Nice serendipity.

copyright Bjorn Rudberg

copyright Bjorn Rudberg

Just One Step Ahead

Bankruptcy is for losers, even when you owe Visa $153,221.

“We just gotta stay one step ahead,” I told my wife. “I know this place in Sweden. The rent’s peanuts.”

“Run away?”

“Escape.” I grinned, all Prince Charming. “Just one step ahead.”

“If you take that step, you’ll do it without me.”

I called her bluff. And she . . . well, it was probably for the best. We only had enough money for one ticket anyway.

I survived, somehow, until the landlady came knocking. Peanuts are still more than nothing.

“Is a check okay?” Full-on Prince Charming.

Just stay one step ahead.

 


A Face Only a Wife Could Love – Alastair’s Photo Fiction

copyright Alastair Forbes

copyright Alastair Forbes

A Face Only a Wife Could Love

Dang, I’m hideous,” Alex thought as he glanced down at his reflection in a puddle. He avoided reflective surfaces and envied vampires for their inability to see themselves in mirrors.

A woman’s face appeared next to his in the reflection. Now there was real beauty.

“What are you looking at?”

“Just myself.”

“Narcissist.” She laughed and kissed his cheek.

“Does it bother you that I’m ugly?” he asked.

“I don’t think you’re ugly.”

“Do you think I have a face only a wife could love?”

“You’d better. You don’t get to have a girlfriend now.”

He smiled and took her hand. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Now can we finish crossing the street? We’re holding up traffic.”

 


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