Love Hurts in your Dreams

The old folks in our church called me a ‘true American.’ I didn’t have the heart to tell them I was a Canadian.

On Sunday morning in front of the entire congregation, the preacher declared the lone man standing in the back of the church, an ‘abomination.’ I knew right there, and then I would marry that man.

“You should date someone respectable,” said my aunt Claire.

“Like you,” I replied.

“I’m dull, dear,” she said. “That’s not the same as being respectable.”

The wrinkles on her face faded as she gave me a mischievous smile. I looked down at my feet to avoid interrogation, but she dug around in her crammed carryall bag instead. Aunt Claire handed me a foil packet, and I gasped.

“If you have a condom in your purse, then it’s a date. You don’t have to use it, of course, but if the shoe fits, he’ll wear it.”

I thanked her and shoved it into my apron pocket as my mother stepped onto the porch. For years, I wanted to ask Aunt Claire how she knew but she passed on my tenth wedding anniversary.

 

A message from the author: I like to write about odd moments (true and false), and this is my lab. Thanks for reading. Best regards, Madeline.