By, Nan Claire Falkner
On route to the wedding, Marge was looking through her messy purse for the invitation. “What was the address Harry?”
“Don’t know, lovey.” He shrugged the question off without his thought process ever touching base with any intelligent conscious grey matter. “We’ve been there before.” Harry added.
“But, that was for her Christening 25 years ago.”
Looking at the broken clock on the dashboard, Harry asked “What time does it start?”
“4 o’clock.” Marge said almost convincing herself she was correct.
Looking toward the floor mat, she spotted the missing invitation.
“Harry, its next weekend and, it’s at twelve noon.