Copyright Oggbashan September 2019
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
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Anthea stood in the bar of Royal Opera House during the interval of a new production of the ballet 'Giselle'. Even without her swept-up blonde air, she was a head taller than the sombre suited men surrounding her and much taller than their petite ex-ballerina wives. When Ralph dropped to his knees in front of her, his head barely reached the golden belt around her bright red column dress.
In front of his friends, mainly of his father's generation, he started to propose.
"No," Anthea said firmly. "You don't know who I am, Ralph, or even what I like. You know ballet bores me but this is the third time this month we have been here. You don't share my passion for athletics nor do you appreciate how good I am. All you want is what you see and I'm more than that. Goodbye."
She left Ralph kneeling on the floor and went to find a taxi.
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It was the end of the air show. Celia was standing on the podium next to Tom who was a minor local radio celebrity and had been announcing the aircraft. A final aircraft appeared towing a banner which read:
"Celia will you marry me? Tom"
Tom spoke into the microphone broadcasting his words to the assemble crowd. He held a ring box in his hand.
"Well, Celia? Will you?"
Celia took the microphone from him.
"No. You want to know why?"
"Yes," Tom said into the microphone.
"How much did that banner cost?"
"A thousand pounds."