By Bunmi Oke
“Darling, you know well I love every inch of you,” holding her whitish hand, “and I want nothing less than to spend the rest of my days with you.”
She sucks in her lower lip in childlike captivation.
I dip my right hand into my suit, hunkering on one knee. She gasps, glee erupting out of the well of her dimples.
Then my hand emerges with a cute little box.
“Sweetheart, would you promise to wear it always—especially this harmattan time?”
A vaseline container.
If looks could kill, I should summarily be cremated under the radiation of her fiery glare.
lol…here is what i like about ur writing…ur ability to make obvious d humor in what is otherwise an everyday occurence.superb one again.welk done!
How humbling to read those comments, Olola Oni.
Superb, suspenseful !!!!!!
Thanks much; I do appreciate.
Nice story,as always bro..I really laughed..errm,hope am permitted to do this,but does the title need a review?
A good thing I was able to make you laugh again, Aghogho.
Thanks for the thought about the title.
Very nice… even better when I looked up what ‘harmattan’ was… good twist
Aw, how delighted I am to hear that. Much thanks, Gary Davison.