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three whole years, and when she had left him he had taken it like a man. ‘There was certainly none of
this
business,’ she said, pointing at my wet, contorted face.

OBEY
    Aqua told me she had started having misgivings about our vows. ‘
Love
is O.K., I suppose,’ she said. ‘It’s quite weddingy, so it fits in. I’m not really sure what
honour
means, but I’ll let it pass. I can’t quite get my head around
obey
, though. It just doesn’t seem right.’
    The vicar asked her to hurry up, because the congregation was starting to get fidgety. ‘I think I’m going to have to say . . .’ She bit her lip and clicked her tongue. ‘. . . no. That’s my final answer: a definite
no
. And if he’s the kind of person who would expect me to say something like that, then I think I should marry somebody else.’
    We had already paid for the reception, so it went ahead as planned. Aqua looked lovely in her dress, and spent the evening congratulating herself on her lucky escape, and dancing with handsome single men, every one of whom assured her that he would never ask her to obey him.

DRESS II
    I agreed to go clothes shopping with my girlfriend. She went into the changing room, and to my surprise came out a while later wearing a wedding dress. I couldn’t believe how beautiful she looked. ‘So,’ she said, ‘what do you think?’
    I had wanted to marry her for ages, but had never found the courage to ask. Swept away, there was nothing I could do but smile and say, ‘Yes. Of course I’ll marry you.’
    She pulled a face. ‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘I might have known something like this would happen.’ She told me she was trying it on for a friend who was the same size as her. ‘What makes you think I’d want
you
as a husband?’
    I couldn’t think of anything.

HELP
    When I told my wife I was leaving, she was crushed. I didn’t like to see her so unhappy, and I encouraged her to look on the bright side. ‘Just think of all the material it’ll give you for your songwriting,’ I said.
    â€˜What songwriting?’ she sobbed. ‘I don’t even play an instrument.’
    â€˜Well, you should start, especially now you’ve got all this inspiration.’
    I convinced her to give it a try. She bought a piano, and before long she had composed a ballad called ‘When You Left (My World Came Crashing Down)’. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very good, and I had to tell her so; it wouldn’t have been fair to let her think she was doing well. Disconsolate, she vowed never to play again.
    Determined to be a good ex-husband, I helped her find a buyer for the abandoned instrument. ‘What about sculpture?’ I suggested. ‘You could pour your pain into that instead.’ She had a good try at it, but again I had to tell her that the result left an awful lot to be desired. She gave that up, too, and I did what I could to help her get a fair price for her chisels. I’ll start her on oil painting next, but I’m not holding out much hope. With all that hurt eating away at her I’d have expected her to have created great work of some kind by now, but it’s just not happening. I’m even starting to wonder whether she’s really as upset as she says she is.

FEAR
    My fiancée suggested we get married while strapped together and falling ten thousand feet from an aeroplane. I wasn’t nearly as interested as she was in that kind of thing, and suggested we have a more conventional ceremony. She dismissed my misgivings. ‘Feel the fear,’ she said, ‘and do it anyway. That’s my motto.’ Not wishing to appear unmanly, I went along with her plan, and I have to admit that in the event it was a lot of fun exchanging vows in mid-air while a vicar plummeted alongside us.
    Unfortunately, our parachute has failed to open, and our marriage is looking