**”They Don’t Marry Women Like You”**
“You must realise, Emily, they don’t marry women like you,” Arthur said calmly. “Some women are for love and good times. Others save themselves for marriage. Sadly, you’re not one of them.”
“What’s wrong with me, Arthur?” Emily frowned at the man she loved. “I cook, I look good, I keep the house spotless—in every way, I’m everything a man could want.”
“That *is* the problem. You’re tainted, understand? Women like you don’t get proposals. They’re just for fun. A man marries a pure, untouched girl—someone who’s never been with anyone else. The kind who’d wash her husband’s feet and drink the water, as the saying goes.” Satisfied with having the last word, Arthur rolled over and started snoring.
Just a week ago, Emily had sat in a café with her girlfriends, gushing about her bright future. Thirty wasn’t young, but her career was set, she owned a flat and a car, and she looked fantastic. Perfect for settling down! And she already had the ideal candidate—Arthur, never married, handsome, well-groomed, barely any bad habits, and a high-ranking position at an insurance firm. A dream man.
They’d met at her dental practice—he’d come in for a check-up and left smitten. That very evening, he’d waited outside with a bouquet—not boring roses but extravagant peonies (in *February!*), then whisked her to dinner. And so it began.
But two years had passed, and still no ring. Her friends had started hinting—wasn’t it time? So, Emily broached the subject herself… only to be stunned by his response. *Tainted?!* Who did he think he was?
The next day, she met her married friends at their usual café.
“Can you believe it? He called me *tainted*! Says men don’t marry ‘used goods’!”
“What rubbish!” Katherine scoffed. “You’re gorgeous, successful—better off than most blokes!”
“He wants someone *pure*,” Emily muttered. “Apparently, I’m ‘third-rate’.”
“Dump him,” Lika snorted. “Or he’ll wreck your self-esteem for life.”
“Bring him to ours this weekend,” Katherine cut in. “Mick and I are celebrating ten years. We’ll sell him on marriage.”
To Emily’s surprise, Arthur agreed. He even drove them to Katherine’s countryside cottage.
The party was lovely—kids running about, a sizzling barbecue, Katherine’s hyperactive corgi, Skipper, darting underfoot. By evening, only the hardiest remained—Katherine, Mick, Lika, and Arthur—chatting over tea and berry pie.
Then Arthur revived *that* topic.
“Katherine,” he said smoothly, “you say Emily should marry. Why hasn’t she? You’ve been wed ten years—she’s still alone.”
“How should I know?” Katherine shrugged. “Mick and I married young. She was busy studying.”
“But you *were* pure when you married?”
Katherine snorted. “Christ, you’re worse than doctors! No, we’d been together since uni.”
“But you *met* her as a virgin?” Mick snapped. “Yes, she was. Happy?”
“Ah! *That’s* a proper marriage. But why would I propose to a woman with a past? If she’s loose, why disgrace my family?”
“What family?” Lika laughed. “You some kind of lord demanding virgins? Then why string Emily along?”
“I’m not,” Arthur said coolly. “She should know she’s second-rate. And you, Lika? Divorced with a kid—*third*-rate. Barely marriage material.”
Mick shot up, yanking Arthur from his seat. At six-foot-four, it took no effort.
“Get out,” Mick growled. “Before I lose my temper. ‘Rates’—bloody *expired* goods yourself.”
Arthur turned to Emily, indignant. “Are you coming?”
She was wheezing with laughter.
Humiliated, he grabbed his bag and left.
“Mick, you’ve ruined me!” Emily gasped between giggles. “Now I’ve got *no* man—not even expired stock!”
“Bad idea, discussing marriage with him,” Katherine sighed. “But *honestly*—what a relic!”
The girls cackled for hours.
Life resumed—patients, paperwork. Arthur never called.
Then, an envelope arrived at the clinic. Inside, an ornate wedding invite—gold script, doves, the works.
At their next café meetup, Emily showed it.
“Don’t go,” Katherine urged. “Why torture yourself?”
“I *would*,” Lika grinned. “Let’s see who this ‘pure’ girl is!”
Emily hesitated, but went—wearing a bold trouser suit, hair styled.
Arthur stood proud in the registry office, beside a doll-like bride no older than twenty, drowning in frilly white.
“Emily, meet Aileen,” he said smugly.
“And she’s… *pure*?” Emily asked.
“Of course!”
The bride blushed.
At the reception, toasts flowed—until the bride’s father took the mic, leading two little boys forward.
“Arthur, welcome to our family! Meet Aileen’s boys—Vinnie and Charlie!”
Emily choked on her salad. Arthur recoiled like he’d been scalded.
His mother shot up, shrieking, “*Pure?!* She’s had *children*!”
“Divorce!” Arthur roared. “I’m filing tomorrow! You’re not even third-rate—you’re *unsellable*!”
Aileen mumbled, “Mum said not to let you near me before the wedding. Two blokes already ditched me!”
Arthur collapsed, wailing. Someone called an ambulance.
Emily slipped out, shoulders shaking. *Karma.*
The divorce was swift. Arthur tried crawling back—but Emily wasn’t interested in “second-rate” men.
Especially not when a divorced colleague had started bringing her coffee every morning.
