Burning or Marriage?

Burning or Marriage?*

Aboard the No. 23 one of those brisk Chin wives expertly marshaling the poor doddery hubbie. God save the man! All the angels hark! Having claimed the prime seat herself the lady—he was too slow—fitting only one, she points him out another behind. There, there. Which leads to an exchange with the woman sharing. Oh, really. Getting off? Craning round to her lost sheep, where had he got to now?... Here, here. Lady leaving. Sje sje ni. Much obliged. Pegging over guiltily the will ‘o the wisp. In any sort of wind lady would take hold of his belt make sure he wasn’t blown into the clouds. Pegging over and into position, blinking and nodding, the strap of her bag behind looking for a moment like a seat belt that she was attempting to secure to her charge. Settled and safe at her side. On the Selegie turn waiting for the lights the Thaipusam Ellie from earlier in the year, plastic garlands faded in the sun and rain. (At the base of the second the creeper had been blackened and shredded by the traffic.) Look at that. Hey! The gamboling pair with trunks raised couldn’t be more cute. If they had smaller versions that you could keep at home…. In the hills of Montenegro they helicopter fling such creatures from the highest peaks without chopping or mincing, directly into the beaks of waiting vultures. Here numbers of the type rarely ever encountered in any other place on the face of the earth. (To be fair to the woman, there were numerous selfies daily in front of the elephants there from all-comers and all colours.)

NB. 1 Corinthians 7 : 9*