“Oh, love, you must understand—women like you aren’t the marrying kind,” said Simon with infuriating calm. “Some women are for fun, for romance, for a bit of excitement. Others? Well, they save themselves for marriage. And you, dear Charlotte, are decidedly in the first category.”
Charlotte blinked. “And what’s wrong with me, Simon? I cook, I look after the flat, I’ve got a proper job—what more could you possibly want?”
“Precisely the problem! You’re… well, used goods, darling. Men don’t marry women like you. We date them, enjoy their company, but when it comes to settling down? No, no—we find a proper girl. Someone untouched, pure. A woman who’d wash her husband’s feet and drink the water, as they say.” Satisfied with his speech, Simon rolled over and promptly began snoring.
Just last week, Charlotte had been in a café with her mates, gushing about her bright future. Thirty, yes—not exactly a spring chicken—but she had her own flat, a reliable car, and a thriving dental practice. Perfect time to settle down, start a family! And Simon? A dream catch. Forty, never married, handsome, well-groomed, a proper job in insurance. They’d met when he came in for a check-up, and by evening, he’d turned up outside her clinic with peonies (in February, no less!) and whisked her off to dinner.
But two years had passed, and still no ring. Her friends had started dropping hints. So, one night, Charlotte decided to nudge things along—only to be met with Simon’s baffling declaration: *Women like you aren’t the marrying kind.*
The absolute nerve!
The next day, she reconvened with her married friends at their usual café. “Can you believe it? He said I was *used goods*! Apparently, I’m not wife material!”
“Bloody hell, Char,” snorted Katherine, sipping her tea. “You’re stunning, successful—what more does the man want?”
“A virgin, apparently. Third-rate goods, that’s me. What do I even do now? He’s perfect otherwise—decent job, good in bed—”
“Bin him,” interrupted Lucy, grinning. “Before he ruins your self-esteem for good. Or—better yet—bring him to our anniversary bash this weekend! Ten years of wedded bliss might just change his mind.”
To Charlotte’s surprise, Simon agreed to go. Kat’s country house was lively—kids everywhere, a barbecue smoking, their tiny Spitz terrier, Biscuit, zooming about like a wind-up toy. By evening, only the hardiest remained at the table: Kat, her husband Mike, Lucy, and Simon.
Then, inevitably, the topic of marriage came up.
“Tell me, Katherine,” Simon said smoothly, “why hasn’t Charlotte married yet? You two tied the knot at twenty-two.”
“God knows! We were young and daft. She was busy with uni, then work—”
“But you *were* pure when you married, weren’t you?”
Mike nearly choked on his tea. “Christ, mate, are you interviewing her for a bloody purity certificate?”
Simon pressed on. “A man can’t marry a woman who’s been… passed about, can he? It’s about respectability.”
Lucy burst out laughing. “What is this, the 1800s? Who even talks like that?”
Simon smirked. “Oh, Lucy, you’re practically hopeless—divorced with a kid. No respectable man would touch you.”
Mike stood so fast his chair toppled. “Out. Now.”
Simon turned to Charlotte, wounded. “Darling, are you coming?”
She was too busy wheezing with laughter to answer. Fuming, Simon grabbed his coat and left.
Later, Kat sighed. “Well, that backfired. What a piece of work.”
Charlotte wiped her eyes. “Guess I’m first-class goods, and you lot are factory rejects!”
Life returned to normal—until an ornate wedding invitation arrived at Charlotte’s clinic. Simon was getting married.
“Don’t go,” Kat urged.
“Oh, I’m going,” Charlotte said. She needed to see this paragon of purity.
At the registry office, Simon stood smugly beside his bride—a girl no older than twenty, drowning in tulle.
“Charlotte, meet Alina,” he said grandly.
“And she’s… untouched?” Charlotte asked sweetly.
“Of course,” Simon beamed.
The reception was dull until Alina’s father took the mic. “Ars—er, *Simon*,” he boomed, “welcome to the family!” He ushered in two little boys. “Meet your stepsons!”
Simon went sheet-white. His mother shrieked. “PURE? SHE’S GOT TWO KIDS!”
Alina stammered, “Mum and Dad said not to tell you—you’d never marry me otherwise!”
Simon howled for a divorce on the spot. Charlotte, stifling laughter, slipped out.
Later, Simon tried crawling back. She shut the door in his face.
Why settle for second-rate? Especially when a rather fit divorced colleague had started flirting with her.
