His Time is Running Out

Harold had proposed before, but today would be different. He was sure of it. After all, Rachel wasn't like the others. She was ... well ... plain.

He entered the room and began his journey to where she sat. He kept his eyes on her, afraid to look away. A lavender and gold flowered dress enveloped her portly figure. Tight curls of reddish hair formed a spongy cap on her head. She seemed pleased with his choice of a seersucker suit, pink shirt and his favorite bow tie—the black one with the red hearts.

It's now or never, he told himself. The bright lights didn't bother him as much this time, nor did the three smiling couples sitting to his right.

He stopped in front of his princess and handed her the roses that had wilted in the heat. Her look told him it didn't matter. He labored to one knee and took the ring from his pocket. He hadn't noticed how much he was sweating until it was time for him to speak. He tucked his arms to his sides and looked at his beloved wife-to-be. He hoped his odor wasn't strong enough to cause her to faint like the last one did.

“Rachel, I l-l-love y-you.” He paused to catch his breath. “And w-w-w-would b-be ...” He took a hand towel from his coat pocket and mopped his head. Just like during the previous four attempts, his body became one large network of nerves. His mouth went dry. And worse, he needed to pee.

He looked at Rachel for inspiration. Her smile was gone. He wiped his face once more, put the towel back in his pocket, took a deep breath and prepared to start over.

“Rachel, I love—“

“Sorry, contestant number four,” the emcee said. “Our time is up for this show. Perhaps you can qualify to come back next week and propose to one of a new group of eligible ladies.”

Return to My Stories.

Contact me regarding this story.