When Pigs Fly

They watch as the pig goes beyond the frame of the door in a fit of squeals that disappear into the clouds behind them.

“It’s flying- priest go.”

“That’s not flying,” she complains planting both fists on hips and glaring blue eyes at him.

“So you’re reneging?”

She says no, when the priest asks if she does but a set of raised eyebrows later, she relents and they are, as the priest says, man and wife.

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