Wedding Bells

My friends Joe and Pipa get married today. Its supposed to be the happiest day of their lives and I am supposed to be happy for them.

Except that Joe does not know what Pipa's middle name, her favourite colour or what her pet peeves are. In fact he does not care. Why should he? Joe needs a wife in short order. The piles of dirty clothing need sorting, washing and ironing. That kitchen is brimming with dirty dishes and crawlies of all sorts. It needs through cleaning. Whatever Pipa's favourite colour or her middle name be, it has nothing to do with the job at hand.

Pipa on the other hand does not know who Joe is despite the fact that they have been neighbours for years. She was minding her own business before the recent events. You see, Pipa lost her job a few days ago and bills are piling up. She needs a secure income and Joe was offering marriage. So why not? Why not indeed.

Maybe the memory of the fortnightly feminine screams from Joe's flat would have stopped another but not Pipa. She had seen the black eyes and the bruises at the communal tap before. In fact, she saw one just like that two weeks ago on another woman. Its the tax man come to collect she reckons. Pipa wants to have a roof over her head and Joe is paying. There is enough time to know each other and an environment for Joe to change after the wedding.

Everyone is cheering. Pipa now bears a gold band and I a purple pinkie. She is not smiling. Neither am I.