Unconventional Romance

I picked my wife out of a book. The woman I was going to marry, she came right out of a book. A folder actually. Three rings, plastic covering each page. It was funny because her picture had been stapled onto the profile and a thin piece of metal ran along the length of her right eyebrow. "She doesn't have that in real life I hope," I said with a nervous laugh. Thankfully the woman in the red jacket sitting behind the desk didn't hear I word I said.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing, I just..." My answer trailed off while my hands tightly gripped the brochure I had taken earlier. It was becoming even more mangled and twisted than it had been while I was waiting in the lobby. None of that registered with the woman behind the desk though. Business as usual, her focus was on the monitor and keyboard as she input all of my credit information into the system.

"Now sir, you are aware that there are no refunds or guarantees. Is that correct?"

"Oh yes. I read it right here in your brochure." I held up the pamphlet but at that point it more resembled a used tissue or something pulled from the bottom of a wastebasket. Smiling awkwardly, I tucked it away inside my jacket. With nothing to fiddle with I realized just how damp with sweat my palms had become and attempted to dry them on the insides of my pants pockets. Keys and almost a dollar in lose change jingled, drawing unwanted attention from the people in the cubical on the left.

"Sir? Sir, I said would you follow me please?" I hadn't noticed the woman in the red jacket had come around her desk and was motioning for me to follow her. We went through the double doors labeled SECURE AREA at the far end of the room, and into a large warehouse filled with rows upon rows of large boxes. "Larry here will take care of you." She handed a pink slip of paper over to the man with a beard who sat in a cage he probably called his office.

"Model number 2755B. Good choice. Me 'n' the wife, we've got one at home. Call her Cynthia. Nothin' dirty, she's the housekeeper. But man oh man..." The man with the beard sighed, drifting off into his own thoughts while picking up the phone and punching a few numbers with his thick greasy fingers. "Hey Buck, bring 'round a fifty-five B wouldja?" His voice rang over the intercom, echoing throughout warehouse. "Shouldn't take long. We'll unpack 'er, get 'er all set up, and I'll go over the the controls wit'cha. So, what she for anyhow?"

I picked my wife out of a book.