Weekend Words - Sunday Edition Part 1...

Her photograph, the only thing he had left, taunted him daily. He should remove it, throw it out, or at least place it in a drawer. Maybe then he’d forget. Maybe then he would accept his fate.

He ran the pads of his fingers over her image, remembering her sleekness, beauty. She had amazing lines and contours, and his chest swelled with pride every time they went out. And he took her out regularly. He liked to be seen with her. She gave him confidence, boosted his masculinity.

Now? He glanced over his shoulder. Now he was average. Lines and contours had been replaced with bulk and girth. Beauty by practicality. He went out only when necessary, and even then, he hunched over in the hope no one would see him.

Picking up the photograph, he wished he had kept her. He could have made room for both.

Too late. She was gone. He replaced the framed picture and turned to face her replacement. A perfectly functional family model and he, a family man. Maybe when the kids got older he’d find another sleek beauty to ease him into old age. Until then, he’d settle.

He sighed and slid into the driver’s side seat, hunched forward and backed out of the garage. Practicality rolled down the road and memories of her faded for another day.