Her name was Marge but she spread her charms like butter


Marge and I got along alright I guess, or so I thought. She and I had been living in the same house, at the same dinner table and I never had an inkling that there was trouble ahead.So it came as a shock of seismic proportions when the words Marge and divorce were spoken in the same sentence. What had I missed all those years? She wouldn’t talk about it, and that was that.

An online news item has informed me that there is some statistical correlation between divorce and Marge, but I don’t see how that could be. If that was the case, then surely parents would have a duty not to give their daughters a name that would most likely end in marital breakdown. I gained little comfort from the statistics and set about rebuilding my life.


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