The man was wearing a bright red shirt — was it red? Lord, my memory is bad — and he was smoking a cigarette outside the chain-link entrance to a parking lot Downtown, a grin creeping across his face as we walked closer.
“I don’t know if y’all are married or not,” he said, “and I didn’t want to say anything, but if you’re not, you better be soon!”
We looked at each other and then down at the ground, laughing and embarrassed. I glanced at my growing belly to see if perhaps it was peeking out more than usual, prompting strangers to contemplate its origin and future.
“I didn’t pay him to say that, I swear,” I said to my companion, loud enough for the stranger to hear.
We passed the man, all three of us chuckling.
“You need to put a ring on her finger,” the man said to our backs. “Don’t let her get away!”
My companion was smiling as we got out of the man’s earshot. “I think people need to mind their own business,” he said, half kidding.
“I dunno. I thought he was nice.”
You should totally get married this August, with your dad holding a shotgun. The wedding photos will be treasured masterpieces.
BETTER: Ray has a stain on his shirt.