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Friend Indeed

I've been told that my preface's before the story cause some of you not to read the story. So, without further ado, here's the story:

My wife dragged me into the dress shop knowing the only thing I’d have to do is twiddle my thumbs, waiting for her to try on two truckloads of sun dresses and blouses. She would always promise to not be more than a minute, but in all my years of marriage, a visit to a clothing store has never lasted less than a few hours. I hate shopping, but I love my wife, so I suppose one cancels the other out. And, at the end of the day, it’s wonderful to see her all dolled up in a dozen different designer dresses.

Even after years of marriage, her beauty could take my breath away. I was so afraid when I got married that her attractiveness would wear down smooth on me, but such has never been the case with Veronica. I’ve heard of it happening to other men. They grow so used to the beauty of their wives that it doesn’t seem beautiful anymore, simply average. Veronica could race my heart, simply by baring her shoulders and pulling her hair back. When she pulled her hair tightly into two pig tails, the coarse red hair at the end was just long enough to reach the base of her freckled neck and that would always drag my eyes down her slender shoulders. She’d turn around in a whirl and look up at me with her bright green eyes and I’d see love behind them. Biting her lower lip, she would look down, dragging my gaze down the front of her, her dress cut low enough to give a promise of firm, freckled breasts, but not reveal much beyond the shape and the soft bulbs peeking from the top. Maybe she wouldn’t do exactly that, but it would seem as though she did.

Enough of that. She gets me like that every time and I imagine no one wants to hear how beautiful I imagine my wife to be. No… I don’t imagine it. She really is that beautiful and more.

So, there I was, waiting for my dear Veronica to try on dresses. Every few minutes she would come out. This time, she was wearing a white dress that came down just above her knees. It was a strapless number that showed off her shoulders and the top of her chest. If my wife were blonde-haired and blue-eyed, she’d be the spitting image of Grace Kelly.

Some say gentlemen prefer blondes, but I prefer redheads.

“What do you think of this one?” Her voice was as delicate as her movement as she twirled around, showing off for both me and the mirror.

“I think it’s hideous. It’s the sloppiest rag I’ve ever seen you throw on.” Teasing her made up for the hours of waiting.

The rest of this story is available in the collection "Cupid Painted Blind" available on Amazon for the Kindle.
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