Panayota could see the future already. She and George would entertain often, sharing their home and their bounty with the same people who had once threatened to chop her into pieces and toss her into the river. She would savor the delicious irony of her newfound domestic status as she poured each of her guests a refreshing drink from an exquisite glass pitcher. “More water?” she could imagine saying. “It’s fresh from the—”
A terrible crash behind her—and the sound of George shouting in alarm—jolted her from her reverie. She turned to see him standing beside his mule and staring angrily at the ground, where the box containing the coveted glassware now lay on its side. Judging by the percussive sound generated by its impact, the glassware was in pieces.
This is a short excerpt from the book, “Better Dead Than Divorced”. Get your copy at Amazon.