Two is the Magic Number

What started out as mere coffee talk has now transformed into a heated ministry. "I am disgusted with the modern writer," Jan says. I take another sip. "All amateurs." "How so?" "Look at these entries! Dull and void of the most ESSENTIAL thing: conflict! None of them are winners"

"Hold up," I say, feeling a bit defensive. "I wrote one of these stories—the woman on the deserted island—and I think it follows the old conflict of protagonist vs nature." Jan scowls. "That navel-gazing milquetoast pansy tale was yours?" she spits. I clench my fists & stand up.

"That story was a damn masterpiece, and you know it! Who declared you a literary critic, anyway? All I ever see you reading is romance novels! What's the matter, not enough heaving bosoms and fiery loins for you?" I broke my #2 pencil in half at threw it one the ground.

Well that pencil was as good as #2 now. “A dam masterpiss eh? And I love romance novels, you’re just mad you’ve never been in a relationship before!” That sentence broke me, like the pencil. “Forget it, I’m off for a #2,” I sighed. “Off to fantasise over ‘romance’ magazines, eh?”

Not today, I replied. I would need to buy some replacement pencils. After a quick bathroom stop I visited my local office supply store. It was there that I met HIM. The man of my dreams. Together we created one of the best romance stories ever known-our own.