He murmured to her that her hands were perfect.
Recoiling, she rejected him as a fool on that subject
Didn’t he see how short and ragged her nails were?
So brittle, they wouldn’t grow long like the pearls
That decorated the fingers of
those women
On television, plus her thumbs were stumps.
Besides, her hair was
too dry and her legs too fat.
No man who ignored all of those many faults
Was
anything but foolish, so she married another
Whom she thought she loved even
though he never
Praised any part of her and now as while lingering
Over her
dishwater she gazed at her aging fingers
Now wrinkled, and reflected on the old
suitor:
What would it have been like to love a fool?
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