(This story was first published in ‘Romance’ Flash fiction anthology Oct 2019)
Romance – I wish. How did romance pass me by? Eighty-one, and never received a red rose, a box of chocolates, a valentines card. No-one came to serenade me. The only time I’ve been swept off my feet was when I fell in the river. It would be nice to know what breakfast in bed felt like.
My sister gets romanced, even now. She’s hopelessly impractical – can’t even catch her own fish – but she sure can flutter her eyelashes!
I lamented to her once about not being romanced, and she burst out laughing; right in my face! She reckoned I scared romance away, with my sensible shoes, clear opinions, and work ethic. It’s true that I can’t be bothered with rubbish. There’s chores to be done; no pointless chatter or frivolity, thank you. What would the sheep care if I wore make-up?
I shouldn’t complain; comfortable home, steady income, freedom to pursue my interests, close friends and family. My life is richly blessed. But oh, a bit of romance would have been nice.
‘What are you thinking?’ asks Walter, my husband of 60 years. I see the love in his eyes, hear the concern in his voice.
Reaching over, I slip my hand into his.
‘Did you know that you’re the best thing that ever happened to me?’ I said.
Walter looks startled. ‘Not like you to be romantic; are you sure you’re okay?’
‘Yes Dear’ I smile.
Romance, huh! I have love.