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*****NOT TRUE STORY*****
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My name is Svornacajeck Hepjamenckif, and as you must have probably guessed by the unpronounceable name, I am Dutch. I share a very unique relationship with the young woman who is my wife and consequently, the mother of my children. But before I elaborate any further, it is essential that I lay the background before you. I submit to the necessity.
When I was around sixteen, I knocked up a girl who would become my first wife. She had a twin, identical to the extent of their being carbon copies of each other. Even their visible moles were the same - but where my wife had a rather circular mole on her left ass-cheek, her sister had one on the other cheek.
In those days, land was often shared between neighbors so as to utilise the resources fully. That was how Helga and I came into contact - she was my neighbor. An outhouse was erected between her house and mine, and this became our house. Helga's sister Zelga and I were good friends, until one fateful day when a rain caused her to take refuge in my house. Helga was at the local hospital, expecting to deliver at any moment. Somehow, Zelga and I ended up in bed together - it was only a one-night stand, but it was enough, as I later discovered. By then, though, Zelga, aware of the repercussions our actions might bring, ran away.
She blamed her pregnancy on the fictitious fellow she had eloped with.
And even though she was her sister's closest confidant, Helga never thought it strange that Zelga had never mentioned anything to her. She never knew that I had fathered a child in her twin as well. I was practical enough to hide the truth from my wife, in the best interests for me, my wife, our families and our baby boy. Even then, for some time, I was wracked with guilt for what I considered had been my cowardice in facing the music. Gradually, though, I came to realize that Zelga had done the right thing; I was in love with her sister, not her. A marriage borne out of commitments is a surety for failure.
Now we move twenty-one years ahead. My headstrong son brought home a bride from the Highlands, a beautiful and well-mannered girl who offset our ignorance of her parents with her bright nature and innocent eyes. To be quite honest, what finally turned my wife in her favor - you know how mothers are always so intensely critical of any girl their sons bring home - was that she looked similar to the younger version of my wife. My daughter-in-law settled in like a charm.
About a year into the marriage, my son decided that he wanted to quit the old farming occupation and move on to more dynamic areas like commerce. To avoid any confrontations between his 'old-fashioned' father and himself, my son moved with his wife to the house just down the street; we were still living close enough to bring the other running over with just a single holler, and it afforded the necessary distance between me and my son. He must have inherited his headstrong nature from me...
It was around this time that his work started to get expansive, and he had to make long trips to distant places. With my wife's blessing, my daughter-in-law would spend these periods with us. At first, the two women would go out for the day, shopping or gossipping or both, but as his trips became more frequent, his wife started to have second thoughts about taking so much freedom with us. Helga was increasingly immersing herself in her religious activities, a trend that I found disturbing. After all, we hadn't even touched forty! My relations with my wife started to get strained.
Meanwhile, my daughter-in-law and I were striking up a good rapport with each other. She was vibrant, enthusiastic and open, attributes that I found surprising since she still maintained the docile outlook of a countryside belle. Without even realizing it, we began to be attracted towards each other. Her devotion of me, although along expected lines of propriety and tradition, was very flattering and I seemed to be the perfect man for her to waste her time with as she waited for her busy husband to pay attention to her.
As the days went on, Aarnja, my daughter-in-law and I became very close. She said I offered her the security that she wanted as a lonely wife - and I replied that she was the bright sunlight that had brought some life back into the world of a very old man. Playfully, she punched my arm. "Come on, Daddy, (she always called me that, much to the amusement of Helga) you are not that old. In fact, you hardly look a day over forty."
"I am not yet forty," I remember roaring.
Together, we rolled on the ground in laughter. That was when Cupid struck - for me, that is. As I took in her happy face, the pout of her lips, the brown eyes and the youthful body, I was aware that I hadn't been so appreciative of any other female since... I married Helga. I felt jealous of my own son, for he had a very beautiful bride who still adored him, while I was going into my twilight years with a woman who already looked like she was sixty and behaved like she was eighty. I stared at her for a long time, until she felt compelled to break into my reverie.
"Why were you looking at me like that?" she asked with a smile. A smile does wonders in beautifying a face - few faces are still left unappealing when there is a smile on them . In the case of Aarnja, I did not believe the smile could improve upon the perfection. My wind went out in a long sigh as I realized I was wrong.
"Nothing," I said, "But just remember me to compliment my son on his beautiful selection of a wife." I had never been one to hold back a compliment.
"Oh," and her smile grew wider. "So you think I am beautiful?"
