A Moral Dilemma: A Romantic Comedy Chick Lit Story

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Authors: Zara Kingsley
Tags: Humor, Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Humor & Entertainment, Romantic Comedy, Women's Fiction, Comedy
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– on their ‘honeymoon’ which had become a make-up holiday, and with no mention of a future wedding date, they’d decided they had might as well move on in. It was a fairly small but definitely stunning, interior-designed two bed apartment, with an unusually large garden, as wide and long as the whole apartment. The garden was accessed through the hub of the house, the kitchen, where on a Sunday Julia loved nothing more than to prepare a good ole English roast with all the trimmings. She was good at it too. Hence the reason for the ‘Sunday crew’ which turned up every Sunday from noon onwards, to break bread with Juju and Seb. Some people I hardly knew, Seb’s workmates mainly, and some friends who I only saw once a week on such occasions, would each grab a plate of food and head out into the garden where there was cosy seating with decked tables and chairs and of course the obligatory patio heaters. This was London after all. Jazz FM would usually be on in the background and after lunch, serious end of weekend chillin’ would kick-in, with cocktails being mixed and spliffs being passed around for those wanting to partake. I, of course, never did. Not going to Juju and Seb’s on a Sunday was like not going to work on a Monday. Where would one eat? Occasionally if the weather was nice we would have a barbecue, which was unmistakably Sebastian’s domain. He was barbecue king and would throw everything on it including corn kernels and sweet peppers, though he, like most the other males in regular attendance, had a preference for steak and any other kind of red meat, so those of us who didn’t eat it – namely me – were left with a few odd chicken wings. Today was a barbecue day and its tasty charcoaled aroma wafted all around the garden and down Ladbroke Grove.
    Abigail was not feeling the tasty aroma. “Oh god,” she bellyached, “I just cannot stomach the smell of barbecue today.” She sat down beside me at a table and instantly started massaging her temples. Deborah and Gabriel, two rather plump acquaintances of ours, actual friends of Juju’s, were also sat at this table, gnawing away at a selection of barbecued meat and potato salad, hardly coming up for air as if the food was going to run out. They momentarily raised their chubby faces out of their troughs to watch Abigail as she sighed dramatically. “Oh my poor head is positively pounding. I sooo need a drink.” Deborah and Gabriel exchanged looks which said: Told you she was an alcoholic.
    “Rough night?” I asked, nibbling on my corn.
    “Darling rough hardly describes what I’ve just been through. I swear, that guy was hung like a horse. I’ll be sore for days,” she stated in her matter-of-fact voice. Deborah promptly began choking on her rib-eye, causing Gabriel to start thudding her back frantically whilst shooting Abby the most disgusted looks ever, but the choking continued and with it fragments of rib-eye were strewn across the table. It was Abigail’s turn to pull a disgusted face. “Oh, will someone please put it out of its misery for chrissakes!” The shock of her comment seemed to do the trick on Deborah’s choking and her sizable girth was ushered up and over to another table by the even larger Gabriel, furious at having her eating disturbed, whilst muttering tramp and whore under her breath. I shook my head at Abigail’s vulgarity. I really ought to be used to it by now but her crass attitude never ceased to amaze me. One would never believe that this seemingly brazen hussy was in fact marketing executive extraordinaire for one of the UK’s most prolific and somewhat conservative department stores: Brook Simmons, no less. I watched Abby as she massaged her neck and rolled her head, wondering for the millionth time if this girl would ever really settle down, already knowing the answer, that she most certainly would not. Then again, being footloose and fancy-free had its advantages; at least if one never fell in love then

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