Never a spinster, never a european

she was standing at the sink. she was peeling potatoes. maybe she was just standing there looking out of the window. there was a bird feeder, the hummingbird kind, hanging just beyond the shadows of the window. i was sitting at the table. i was writing. maybe i was just sitting there breathing deeply. i told her i wanted to marry a european. i told her i thought that they were dark and mysterious. i had not decided which kind of european, but i knew i wanted european.

she stood there, staring, peeling. she turned her head slightly, just enough that i could watch the corners of her mouth contract with each word that she pronounced.

europeans do not believe in engagement rings. at least not the kind that you are imagining.

she turned back towards the window; satisfied that i no longer wanted to marry a european.


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