March was a bad month for romance, she decided. No decent-looking guy had looked her way, in the right way, for several weeks. She looked at herself in the mirror. Long brown hair, good skin. Not much wrong there. Maybe it was her breath? She cupped her hand over her mouth and nose, inhaling the odour of garlic – but who didn’t like garlic?
The phone rang. She answered. “Hello, Sonia McKewen.”
A breathy male voice rasped, “Hi Sonia, you don’t know me. I live on the floor below. I see you going to work, we haven’t spoken.”
“Then why are you phoning me? Hey, how d’you get this number?”
“I guess I thought you looked lonely. Maybe we could meet?”
He sounded about thirty, ten years younger than her. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, whaddya like doing?”
She hesitated. “Well, I go to church.”
“So you like God?”
“I s’pose so!”
“Me too, look I’m coming up right now, I’ll bring my bible.” The phone went dead.
Dreading the knock at the door, she stood and waited.
Dread turned to resignation, then to disappointment.
After twenty minutes she gave up. March was not the month for romance!
Featured in the book and audiobook, To Cut a Short Story Short, vol. II: 88 Little Stories
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