The Marriage Show 3

For the previous edition, go here. 

"I don't owe you anything!" Mr. Jenkins shouted, a scowl twisting his already sneering features.

"How dare you go into my past like that!" 

"What happened to the girl?" the DJ asked, pouncing on a possible juicy tidbit. "Why aren't you married now?" Mr.Jenkins clamped his lips together and refused to answer. 

"Obviously, he lost his way," Father Frank sniffed, crossing his arms. "He needs faith in the Lord." 

"I need religion like I need a hole in the head!" Mr. Jenkins snapped. 

"Blasphemy!" Father Frank bellowed. "With thoughts like that, Mr. Jenkins, it's no wonder you have lost the love of your life." 

"Now, now," Venita chided, her red lips pursing. "There have been times you have doubted love, Father." The pastor turned pale. His lips trembled slightly. 

"I have not." 

"Faith doesn't mean not answering questions," Venita replied, tossing her golden hair behind her shoulder. "In fact, didn't you doubt marrying your wife moments before you walked down the aisle? Didn't you hit your knees and ask God why"

-- "That's private!" Father Frank shouted, lunging at her. "How dare you say those things! How dare you doubt my marriage!" 

"She isn't doubting anything." Everyone in the room turned to look at the third man, Mr. Drake. "Don't you see?" Mr. Drake continued. "She's trying to prove that we all want to be loved and cared for. She's trying to prove that our blanket theories are wrong. Mr. Jenkins' theories have been tainted by his bitter past and his fear to try again. Father Frank's marriage has hidden insecurities and secrets." His eyes turned to Venita. "And I'll save you the trouble of admitting my past." He turned to the others and held up his hands. "A girlfriend lived with me for three years and left me because I couldn't commit to marriage. My cohabitation study won me all sorts of awards." The room fell into an awkward silence. The DJ cleared his throat. 

"So, Venita, how are you going to change these men's ideas of love?" Venita smiled, her eyes flashing. 

"Easy," she replied. "With love." To be continued...

For more, visit the Blond Duck at www.aduckinherpond.com

The Marriage Show 2

For the previous Morning Show Post, go here. 

"How are you going to show us?" Mr. Jenkins sneered, shoving his plastic glasses up on his nose. 

"I refuse to go anywhere with you. That's kidnapping." The woman smiled. 

"I never said I was taking you anywhere." 

"Is it at least going to have noises?" the DJ asked, looking worriedly at his producer. "This isn't TV, you know. We've only got audio, Mrs.--" The woman in red waved her hand, tossing her golden curls behind her shoulder. 

"Don't worry, Mark. And don't call me Mrs. I'm not married, darling." Her laugh filled the studio, making all the men blush. 

"What should we call you?" Mr. Drake asked, narrowing his eyes as though he was trying to read every word of her thoughts. 

"Call me Venita," she said, her blue eyes flashing with mischief as she choked back a giggle. 

"That should be easy enough for you." The pastor narrowed his eyes. "Listen, Venita, I am a God-fearing man," he snapped. "I don't believe in magic and mysticism. How do you claim to show us things without taking us somewhere? I don't like this. I don't like this at all." 

"You're not supposed to like it," Venita chided. "Who among us likes change? But growth, particularly where love is concerned, is necessary. It is the sun, the air, the water of love."

"We're not talking about love," Mr. Jenkins snarled. "We're talking about marriage. Two totally different things." Venita's red lips spread into a semblance of a smile that terrified every man in the room. 

"Is it then?" she asked. "I don't think you believe that." Mr. Jenkins gaped at her. 

"Have you read any of my work?" he shouted. "Have you been listening to anything I've said? I told you--love is a chemical imbalance and marriage a archaic institution that"-- Venita held up a hand. 

Mr. Jenkin's mouth opened and closed, his tongue flopping uselessly in his silent mouth. Pulling a tiny golden bell from her cleavage, Venita shook it over her shoulder in a manner so causal one would have thought she was calling a waiter. A strange hum filled the room. The walls of the studio melted away. Gaping, the men looked around. They were still in their chairs, still attached to their microphones. The DJ poked his blinking board, jumping when a commercial blared behind his head. 

Suddenly a young man with knobby elbows and knees galloped by, chasing a pretty young girl with red pigtails. "Alice!" he cried. "Alice!" She giggled. 

"Jeremy Jenkins, you'll never catch me!" she shouted, ducking around a oak tree. Shrieking with delight, she pretended to be annoyed as he wrapped her arms around her. Leaning her head under his chest, she traced her finger on his breast. "Promise me we'll always be like this," she whispered, gazing up at him. "Promise me we'll always be this happy." 

The skinny man kissed her, his gawky smile like a beacon of hope. "Through college and beyond," he promised, his braces glinting in the sun light. "We'll be two old people rocking on the porch before you know it." 

"With bowls of cookie cream ice cream and potato chips," the girl added. "That's very important." 

"With cookie cream ice cream and potato chips," the man repeated with a smile. They kissed again, a faint bell ringing through the air. The bright sunlight faded and with a slam of cold air, the studio walls rose around them. The men blinked, staring at each other in shock. Sauntering over to Mr. Jenkins, Venita perched on the table next to him and crossed her arms. He scuttled away from her, his plastic glasses sliding down to reveal fearful eyes.

"So what was all this bluster about love and marriage, then? I believe you owe us an explanation." Venita smiled. To be continued...

www.aduckinherpond.com
The Blond Duck

The Marriage Show

This is our very first installment of a continuing story... Blonde Duck, who is an amazing writer has agreed to post ON SATURDAY's a continuing story or stories... depends on when one is finished and another begins... so EnJoY!!!

"Marriage is completely outdated," an older man in a mothball-studded suit droned, shoving his thick plastic glasses on his nose. "It is an archaic institution, one which will die away within twenty years. The whole purpose of marriage was to gain land or goods through treaties and later, to legitimize children. Now that women can work without the stigma of being a single mother, relationships don't have to be defined by a ring or paper."

"I beg to differ!" a pastor shot back, his red face reflecting off the thick gold cross around his neck. "The Lord intends for a man and woman to unite as one! Families are broken every day by people sprouting your nonsense! A family has a MARRIED mother and father committed to raising their children in the Lord's image."



"I don't think things are as black and white," a family therapist countered, his white teeth shining in the light of the radio studio. "You see, marriage is important for emotional growth. However, love can exist within the bonds of a less-defined relationship. You see, marriage goes in stages"--



"I read a study the other day that said there were no good and bad marriages," the first older man sniffed, peering down through his thick plastic glasses. "There were only short and long marriages. Everyone has the same problems. Marriage is basically successful if the couple remains together until death. Happiness is not part of the equation!"



"Those are the words of the devil!" the pastor hissed, pointing a bony finger at the ancient psychologist. "You sir, have no respect for marriage or family!"



"See, happiness is a complicated issue in marriage," the family therapist tried to explain to the DJ. "It all depends on values and the time of the marriage--it's really quite scientific"--



"You're all wrong."



The DJ, who had been trying to get a word in for thirty minutes, swiveled his head around and gasped. The three guests' jaws dropped to the floor, their eyes wide. Even the technical staff couldn't stop staring.



Striding into the room with a smirk, the blond woman slid headphones over thick wavy waves. Her blue eyes sparkled as she leaned up to the mike, her red lips parting. Every man there noticed the way her red dress hugged her hourglass figure, the way her voice slid over them like silk.



"You're wrong," she spoke into the microphone. "You're all wrong."



The DJ blinked, his tongue frozen in his head. "Who are you?" he stuttered, his fingers still over the rows of keys and blinking lights.



The woman laughed and tossed her hair. "You could call me several things," she drawled. "Venus. Aphrodite. Cupid. Love. It doesn't matter. What matters is you're wrong."



The three men continued to gape at her.



"How are they wrong?" the DJ asked, his voice shaking as she turned her blue eyes to his.



"Well, Mr. Jenkins here," she began, pointing to the man in the mothball eaten suit and plastic glasses, "personally does not believe in love, so he skewers his research to negative findings. Since he never got married, he doesn't believe in it's virtues."



"I do not skew my findings!" Mr. Jenkins sputtered, his cheeks red. "How dare you, vile lady!"



"And Father Frank believes in love and marriage," the woman continued, pointing to the pastor. "But for all the wrong reasons. He worries that he only married his wife to make the church happy."



"I'd love to invite you to a service," the Father began, standing and offering his hand. "I do believe you would learn the truth..."



"I'm sure you would," the woman interrupted with a grin, turning to the third man. "And Mr. Drake, though a wonderful therapist, also has the wrong idea. He thinks love has to be studied, explained, charted. He believes every marriage must move in proper stages and be catalogued for every occasion. He has treated every girlfriend as an experiment, a therapy session."



The third man's eyebrows knit together, but he said nothing.



"So why are you here?" the DJ asked, obviously confused.



"You want what marriage is really about, what it really means," the woman drawled, her red lips curling in a smile. "You want to know if it's important, what it has to do with faith, how it can survive children. Everyone wants that blissful fifty year marriage, the perfect romance. But no one knows how to get it. No one truly believes it exists. You all think marriage is complicated, overrated, a mistake that can be easily erased by divorce papers. Some find it unneccessary, others a burden. Some use it as a answer to happiness and lonliness, others as an escape or to fill a void. But none of you are right. None of what you say is true.



"And I'm here to show you."



To be continued....



Written by the Blond Duck



www.aduckinherpond.com

First Date

She could remember it like it was last night.

She had worn her favorite lacy black top and tightest jeans. Every curve was highlighted, every attribute accented. Her eyes were smoky and her lips were light. Even back then, she knew bold lipstick was bad for a date. With a colony of butterflies dancing in her stomach, she had waited at the door of her dorm.

She heard his engine before she saw him. The roar of the sports car made her friends squeal with glee as he pulled up. When he climbed out, his thick dark hair glinting in the moonlight and crisp white shirt cracking in the night air, the squeals turned to sighs.

"Look at you!"

"What a catch!"

"Lucky!"

"Does he have a brother?"

"Shhhhh," she hissed, waving off their giggles as the door opened. He grinned at the matronly monitor glaring behind the counter and waved to her friends. "Evening, ladies."

They giggled. With a swoop of his hand, he pulled a bouquet of daisies from behind his back. "I wasn't sure what you liked," he apologized, his brow creased. "I knew roses had been done, but everything else seemed so...not you. These looked perfect."

Her friends sighed. Her lips burst into a smile and she looked up into his dark brown eyes. "They're perfect," she whispered. She wanted to add like you, but knew it would come off as completely cheesy.

"We'll put them in water for you," her friend said, practically snatching the flowers out of her hand. Her friend shoved her into him, knocking her head into his shoulder. She prayed her foundation hadn't smeared on his shirt.

"Go on!" they caroused, waving the couple out. "Have a good time!"

And they did. Nestled in a dim Italian restaurant, the magic of food and wine unwound around them. She couldn't remember what the dinner tasted like, but she remembered the way his lips curled and everything he said. They talked about their families, school, their dreams and the future. She teased him about his taste in sci-fi movies and he twirled her thick hair around his finger. Holding hands, they walked the streets of downtown until they stopped into a late-night sundae shop. Over ice cream cones topped with sprinkles, they kissed under the streetlight as the lights of shops dimmed.

It was perfect.

Now fifteen years later and three kids later, she didn't know if one of her legs would fit in those jeans. Her eyes were shadowed with fatigue, not shadow. Her lips were not quirked in a seductive smile, but shouting instructions and commands to three beings that ruled her every waking hour. She hadn't seen a movie that wasn't a cartoon in seven years and ice cream came in tiny cups at birthday parties with goody bags.

And she was tired of it.

On Friday night, she went into her closet and pulled out a slinky black top, with lace in all the right places. She shaved her legs and curled her hair, painted her cheeks and made her eyes as smoldering as she dared. Pulling on a skirt that would make her mother blush, she slipped on heels and waited at the front door.

He pulled into the garage and her children squealed. They hopped up and down as the babysitter tried to wrangle them into the kitchen. Her two dogs barked along in joy, their tails slapping the back of her legs.

"I want pizza!"

"Macaroni and cheese!"

"Ice cream with gummy worms and peanut butter covered in chocolate chips with nachos and hot dogs!"

The door opened and her breath caught in her throat, just as it had fifteen years ago. He had put on a suit and polished his shoes. His hair gleamed in the light, hiding the small patch of skin underneath. Reaching around his side, he pulled out a wad of bills and handed him to the babysitter.

"Order them whatever you like," he told her. "Just keep them alive. We'll be back late."

Leading his wife out to the car, she exclaimed with joy. A bouquet of daisies sat in the front seat.

"I wasn't sure what to get," he told her, his forehead crinkling with deep lines. The creases around his eyes crinkled. "I know roses is traditional, but they seemed so blah. And all the other bouquets looked like they belonged to a wedding. I wasn't sure if you still liked daisies."

She looked up into his eyes and smiled. "It's perfect." Holding her hand, he opened the door and helped her in the car.

"Italian?" he asked.

She smiled and nodded. "Then ice cream."

It was a perfect first date.

Simple Love

Her granddaughter slammed through the screen door, throwing her purse on the counter.

"He did it again," Sophie snarled, tearing her hair through her hands. "I tell you, Grandma, I don't know how you stayed married for 63 years. I've been married for just 2 years and the next 60 days seems like an eternity. And you already had Mom by this time, and you were younger than me! I can't imagine having a child with that irresponsible, selfish man!"

Sophie plopped into the kitchen chair, staring at her grandmother. For as long as she could remember, her grandmother had always stood at that stove. She was always stirring something, pouring batter for cupcakes into her worn steel pans or icing a cake.

"Grandma, didn't you feel slighted?" Sophie pressed. "You were so smart! You could have run your own business or had a big life! You could have traveled to exotic beaches or tiny towns hidden in the South America mountains. Why didn't you?"

"I wanted to marry your grandfather," her grandmother replied mildly. "Women didn't work back then once we were married, unless they had to. And I didn't have to. So I didn't."

"Why did you marry Grandpa?" Sophie asked. "Didn't you want to do more with your life than just raise babies and putter around the house?"

"Not particularly," her grandmother said. "I enjoyed running a household and raising a family. I loved your grandfather."

"I don't get it." Sophie leaned back and crossed her arms. "I can't imagine loving anyone that much to give up my life."

Her grandmother put down the spoon and turned, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Her eyes glowed and her lips were spread in a sweet smile.

"When I was 18, I worked at a local radio station while I was going to college. One night, a bunch of girls from the dorm and I went to a dance on campus. We curled our hair and put on our best shoes and dresses. The war had just started, so there were still some men left to dance with."

"This tall, thin boy with a sweet smile asked me to dance. I loved his blue eyes and the way he said my name. We talked all night. By the next day, I knew I wanted to marry him."

"Of course, he had to go overseas and fight. We wanted to get married, but my parents wanted me to wait until he got back. I understood. They wanted to protect my heart. What they didn't realize was my heart was already his."

"He got shot down in the war and it shattered the bones in his legs. They never thought he'd walk again. For three years, he stayed at the hospital. I was there with him every day. We got married and he drove me around town, pointing at all the houses. 'I may not have much now, Iris,' he told me, 'But I promise you that you'll get a fine house someday. The finest in town.' But I didn't care. I would have lived in a shack to be with him."

"Grandma, that's really sweet," Sophie said. "But didn't you worry he wouldn't come back when he went to war? And didn't you worry that he'd never work when he was in the hospital? I don't know if I could have stayed with someone through all that."

Her grandmother shook her head, with a small smile on her face. "We didn't have it bad at all, dear. Even by your standards."

"But you had to live with your parents for the first five years of your marriage until Grandpa could afford a house!" Sophie protested. "And you already had Mom by that point. She told me stories about how you clipped coupons, made her clothes--all of that. Weren't you worried about security? Didn't you ever feel unsatisfied?"

"What you don't realize, Sophie, is that love is not as hard as everyone makes it out to be," her grandmother informed her. "As long as we had each other, everything was fine. I was just so happy to get him back from the war, I didn't care what happened. And then we were blessed with our three children. Ed worked hard to make sure that I could stay home with the kids, and I loved every minute of it. I never felt repressed like your generation does. We had a lovely life full of laughter."

"But marriage is work," Sophie argued. "It's hard navigating life for two people. I mean, surely not everyone who got married felt like you and Grandpa did."

"True," her grandmother said. "But as I always said to my friends, why did you marry if you didn't like him?"

"I just wish it wasn't so hard," Sophie whined, burying her face in her hands. "Sometimes I just think I should be single again. It'd be so much easier."

Her grandmother shrugged. "You just have to figure out what's important, Sophie. To me, it was simple. I loved your grandfather. As long as I was with him, I was just fine. Divorce won't change things if you're not happy with yourself. You won't be happy with anyone."

She took her granddaughter's hand and patted it.

"You've got to remember, dear, that life is pretty simple. It's we who make it complicated. As long as you focus on the important things, you'll be fine. Just love and laugh. That's all you need in life. The money, the career, the important PTA meetings and kid's activities--it all fades. At the end, all you've got is each other. And if you don't like each other, then you're in for a rough time. And if you don't have anyone, well...you're alone. It may be easier, but it's sure not as much fun."

She gave her granddaughter a wink. "And I didn't give up my life for anyone. I made one. With him."





Sophie's eyes strayed to a photo of her grandparents. She stared at their wrinkled, smiling faces. Her gaze roamed over the photos hanging on the wall; her grandfather in his uniform, her grandparents on their wedding day. Pictures of her mother and brothers as infants hung on the wall, followed by snapsnots of the growing family at various birthdays and simple celebrations. Her mother once told her she was excited if she got a cake and ice cream for her birthday. Sophie had never gotten excited over something like cake. It took a fancy purse to excite her.

She wondered how many fights her grandparents had, how many times her grandmother had wished to be doing something other than baking or tending children. Then she thought of the love they must have shared, the excitement over creating a life together. She thought the dedication it took to sit at a hospital for three years, day after day, waiting to be married to the man her grandmother had loved and waited for.

All of the sudden, she felt ashamed.

The screen door banged open for the second time that morning. Josh, Sophie's husband, stood sheepishly in the doorway.

"Hi Nana," he addressed Sophie's grandmother. Hanging his head, he peeked up at Sophie.

"Honey, I'm sorry I wasn't sensitive to your needs, like you said before. I didn't realize you wanted to go on a trip for our anniversary. I called around and got some extra overtime, so we won't have to skimp like you were worried about. And I'll get you that necklace you want. I didn't mean to forget our anniversary, it's just with that big project at work...but I don't want you to think I care about work more than you. I never wanted you to think that."

Sophie glanced at her grandmother and stepped closer to her husband. "I'm sorry too," she replied. "I realized there's something more important than a trip or a necklace."

A look of worry and exhaustion crossed her husband's face. "What?" he replied in a wary tone.



Sophie smiled. "Love," she replied. "And making a life. Our life. Together."

Her grandmother smiled.

Love and Friendship

This story below comes from a wonderful blogger Blonde Duck. She is an aspiring writer with a collection of short stories that are full of wit and humor (and often times pie!) Married to her love Ben and raising two furry children she dishes up a little reality about her and friends, guys and girls. You can find her page at A Duck In Her Pond.



When your best friend is your husband, it’s hell finding girlfriends.

Growing up, I was always a guy’s girl. Even though I was convinced I was a princess and wore only pink dresses, you’d be more likely to find me digging a hole with China in the sandbox with the boys rather than giggling on the sidelines with the girls. From first grade until freshman year of college, most of my friends were boys. I was like the Gwen Stefani of Anderson High School—blond, girlie but totally in the boy’s club. Forget ladies’ lunches and shopping trips. I was the sole girl with several guys in heels at rock concerts, pool halls and disgusting dorm rooms with foil on the windows.

And then I met my husband. And my guy friends became a problem.

As much as I hate to admit it, a lot of guys make friends with women knowing that they would date them in a heart beat. There are the guys that wouldn’t even think of it, but they are few and far between. While many criticized my decision. I distanced myself from a lot of my college guy friends unless we were out as a big group. If my husband wasn’t going to go hang out with other women alone, it didn’t seem fair for me to.

There was only one problem. I had no girlfriends.

Growing up, I’d always had one girl best friend. At 13, hormones and a move to California caused our friendship to drift apart amicably. In high school, I had a girlfriend so close I had a tooth brush at her house until we both went to college.


But now, as an adult woman in a small college, I had a problem. The girls I met didn’t want to go hang out with guys in big groups. They wanted to go get drinks at swanky bars, eat salads at charming little restaurants and get pedicures. With pearls wrapped around their neck and stylish outfits, they looked like a model that fell out of a magazine.

No pearls here!

I didn’t. I was in the horseback riding club. I wear cowboy boots in the winter and my hair in wet ponytails. My ideal meal was a hamburger and unless a bar had dancing, I was going to be bored out of my mind.


I hate pedicures.

But I didn’t fit in with the tomboy crowd either. They wanted to go on biking excursions that lasted three days and had more armpit hair than a gorilla. They saw my pink dresses and love for baking cookies as feminist entrapment and wanted to free me from my domestic prison.

So I came to the most logical conclusion: I needed to find girlfriends in a relationship. They would understand my reluctance to go to frat parties, my dislike of going out at 10 at night and love of sundresses, right?

Wrong. The women I met in relationships only wanted to do one thing: Bitch. They whined about their boyfriends, obsessed over getting engaged and told me things about their romantic life that would have shocked Dr. Sue. They bullied me for not wanting to go out all the time without my husband and pushed me to get a ring. I fled in terror.

I can haz girlfriends?!?!?

Ever since, I’ve met several great women. Some are moms, some are single, some are in a relationship. They all understand me and my quirks. The more women I’ve met; the more I’ve realized that good girlfriends are out there.

But my experiences taught me a sad truth that was proved to me the other week. A dear friend of mine had a birthday I couldn’t attend because Ben was sick. I wasn’t willing to leave him, and she was hurt and disappointed.

I will never have the friendships seen in movies like Sex and the City. I won’t have a group of girlfriends that put each other above all else, all husbands and children. And it’s due to one simple fact: My husband comes first. My family comes second. Our health is third. And everything else comes after that.

Considering I’ve got the love of my life and best friend, I think it’s a pretty good tradeoff.


What do you think? Have you had trouble making girlfriends or trouble with relationships because of friends? Let’s dish, ya’ll!

Curiosity at First Sight

For me, it wasn't love at first sight.





It was curiosity.

It was a rainy spring Sunday afternoon my freshman year of college. It was too early for dinner and too late for a weekend adventure. I was too restless to do homework but felt too gross to workout or get dressed up. When I got the call from some guy friends to meet them for a sandwich, I was dashing down the hall before the dial tone buzzed.

And of course, he was there.

The first thing I thought was that he was a frat boy. He had on a baseball cap, faded jeans, cowboy boots and drove a truck--the Baylor frat boy uniform. The second thing I thought was that I had no make up on and was wearing grubby work out clothes.

Plopping down at the table, we were cordial to each other. As my guy friends plopped down with enough sandwiches to feed an African village, chaos and hilarity ensued. I discovered he wasn't a frat boy; he discovered I was single. With a smile that sparkled and eyes that twinkled, he laughed when I fired off a witty comment and clapped a hand on my shoulder.

"I like this girl," he proclaimed. "She's got spunk."

He might as well have handed me a ring. From that moment, I was hooked. I was completely fascinated by his every word, every expression. I stalked him on instant messenger, nagged my guy friends about him and found reasons to wander over to his dorm's cafeteria at all hours during the day.

I had to know about him. I had to learn everything. I wanted to know where he was from, what he wanted to do, about his dreams and about his realities. And every bit of information I learned made me want to learn more. I had never been so curious about someone in my life. He was the one person I couldn't figure out right away, couldn't analyze or understand after a few minutes.

Little did I know he was just as hooked on me. While I was busy prancing around his dorm, he was making sure none of my guy friends wanted to date me.

Prancing around his dorm turned into drives around town and late night dinners that led to a delirious 4 a.m. conversation where he asked me to be his girlfriend. Later, I once asked him when he knew he liked me.

"When I first saw you," he said. "You were so elegant and simple. No make up, comfortable clothes and totally confident. You were funny, smart and cute as all hell. You didn't need fancy clothes or all the make up the other girls did."

While I was busy basking in the glow of my own ego, he flashed a grin. "What did you like about me?"

"Simple," I said. "You made me curious. I wanted to know everything about you.”

And six years later, I still don’t know everything.



I’m curious.