Bobblehead. I’m a bobblehead, he thought, and smiled at the mental picture of an Albert Einstein one that he saw online one time. It woke him up slightly, which he needed to do; falling asleep in public would be embarrassing.… Continue Reading
Getting married wearing nothing but whipped cream seemed like a terrible idea. So Gemma thought: why not? That is to say, she knew why not. But even so. Then too, what would Bryan wear? There would a terrible imbalance in… Continue Reading
My baby sister is marrying the ghost of a pirate. When it came to her imaginary friends, Anita always pushed the limits. Growing up she insisted our mother set a place at the table each night for her favorite, a… Continue Reading
Finish up your chicken, child; those potatoes and green beans. Seventh-Hour Man will get’cha if your supper plate’s not clean. — A childhood cautionary The Canuck Territories | 1 September 1905 Charlie Haggard always felt more alive after a wedding,… Continue Reading
“Gita, come look. He’s the one!” Gita stared at the computer and the image her aunt was tapping at on the screen. Ajeet Dhawan was twenty-nine. A strong nose her aunt remarked. Gita nodded taking in his soft brown eyes… Continue Reading
The crunchy lettuce in her sandwich resounds in her head as she chews, so it’s not until she swallows that Maggie hears the song threading its way through the fug of damp clothes and coffee steam. The melancholic voice conjures… Continue Reading
The predicted five centimetres of snow turned out to be fifteen. Most of Southern Ontario had been blanketed. My dad and sisters shivered and brushed flakes off each other, and me, at the back of the church. Not exactly the… Continue Reading
Sure, Jennifer liked cake, but this was ridiculous. Her sister’s wedding cake towered over the reception, a pillar of frosting. Any taller and it would block out the sun to usher in a thousand years of darkness and despair. Civilizations… Continue Reading
I’m getting married tomorrow. My mother calls, at ten minutes to midnight, to ask whether or not I am going to wear a dress. She’s drunk and the slur of her words pelts me through the phone line like wine-soaked… Continue Reading
“Bhaiya! Bhaiya! Where are you?” Shalu is breathless. She wants him to see her bangles. She wants him to admire her wedding sari, the gold earrings and necklace; her shiny new slippers. The red lipstick and bottle of maroon nail… Continue Reading