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How I Met My Wife


How I Met My Wife
-Jack Winter/The New Yorker
It had been a rough day, so when I walked into the party I was very chalant,
despite my efforts to appear gruntled and consolate.

I was furling my wieldy umbrella for the coat check when I saw her standing
alone in a corner. She was a descript person, a woman in a state of total array.
Her hair was kempt, her clothing shevelled, and she moved in a gainly way.

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I wanted desperately to meet her, but I knew I’d have to make bones about it
since I was travelling cognito. Beknownst to me, the hostess, whom I could see
both hide and hair of, was very proper, so it would be skin off my nose if
anything bad happened. And even though I had only swerving loyalty to her, my
manners couldn’t be peccable. Only toward and heard-of behavior would do.

Fortunately, the embarrassment that my maculate appearance might cause was
evitable. There were two ways about it, but the chances that someone as
flappable as I would be ept enough to become persona grata or a sung hero were
slim. I was, after all, something to sneeze at, someone you could easily hold a
candle to, someone who usually aroused bridled passion.

So I decided not to risk it. But then, all at once, for some apparent
reason, she looked in my direction and smiled in a way that I could make heads
or tails of.

I was plussed. It was concerting to see that she was communicado, and it
nerved me that she was interested in a pareil like me, sight seen. Normally, I
had a domitable spirit, but, being corrigible, I felt capacitated–as if this
were something I was great shakes at–and forgot that I had succeeded in
situations like this only a told number of times. So, after a terminable delay,
I acted with mitigated gall and made my way through the ruly crowd with strong
givings.

Nevertheless, since this was all new hat to me and I had no time to prepare
a promptu speech, I was petuous. Wanting to make only called-for remarks, I
started talking about the hors d’oeuvres, trying to abuse her of the notion that
I was sipid, and perhaps even bunk a few myths about myself.

She responded well, and I was mayed that she considered me a savory
character who was up to some good. She told me who she was. “What a perfect
nomer,” I said, advertently. The conversation become more and more choate, and
we spoke at length to much avail. But I was defatigable, so I had to leave at a
godly hour. I asked if she wanted to come with me. To my delight, she was
committal. We left the party together and have been together ever since. I have
given her my love, and she has requited it.


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