The great lummox shifts uneasily at my door.
He grips his cap like a shield, rotating it through calloused fingers.
“Sithee, I’ve 42 cows, 20 acres, and 16 sheep. Tha’ll want fer nuthin’…”
Seemingly appalled by his own effrontery, he clams up.
As proposals go, it’s not much; no hearts, no flowers.
But as women go, I’m not much either. Tall, buck-teethed, flat-chested.
“No turtle doves then?”
“Ah’s got pigeons,” he cries. “Tons of ‘um … “
“Wonderful! No shortage of pies then.”
He recoils, horrified.
No sense of humour either.
He’ll have to do, though.
I think I could have done better with this, but we’re getting ready to move house and time is short. During a restless night (nothing new there then) I got the word ‘lummox’ on my mind, so I was glad of the opportunity to use it and hopefully can now let it go. 🙂 Thanks to Rochelle who once more leads the Friday Fictioneers onto the dance floor today, with all her usual grace and style.