How I became a sister-wife, by Ellen Harcourt

I had always admired my friend Frances's husband Tom. He was easy-going, witty, and wise as well. He took my ideas seriously and, when Frances wasn't around with her frivolous conversation, Tom and I had those deep discussions that are memorable to me, even now.

Because Frances was a good friend, and we collaborated on a number of projects, I found myself spending time with her in those hours beyond work. That meant time with Tom as well. I know she always complained that he didn't pick up after himself and wouldn't eat vegetables, but I didn't see that side of him at all.

Ellen the Cookie-Baker

We shared the cookies I baked for him. He really seemed to appreciate them and I found myself putting extra chocolate chips in batches I made for him. Frances was constantly pushing vegetables, raw ones at that. It was no wonder that Tom had no energy for housework!

Sad to say, my dear friend Frances passed away. She choked on a radish at a picnic the three of us were enjoying. Neither Tom nor I could revive her. Tom was almost inconsolable. I say "almost" because I did my best to help Tom deal with his loss. We both missed Frances so much! Tom was so lonely without her. So was I, of course. I baked batch after batch of cookies, numberless pies and even special cakes. Slowly, Tom gained hope and weight in equal measure.

One day, about three weeks after Frances's death, Tom confessed his love for me. Offering me the ring Frances once wore, he proposed to me. We had the ring resized, got married, and Tom became mine.

But he wasn't all mine. On our wedding night, I awoke to a noise that seemed to be coming from the kitchen. "Tom, Tom, I think someone's in the house!" I cried, clinging to him in alarm.

"I'll go downstairs and check," he whispered in my ear. "I'm sure it's nothing but the faucet dripping." I watched in trepidation as he tip-toed down the stairs.

"Oh, my Gosh!" he yelled. "It's Frances!"

I jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs. It was Frances! Only she seemed kind of insubstantial, transparent, and she was standing at the sink, washing celery and cutting in into smaller sticks.

Tom the Bigamist

"What are you doing here?" I demanded, more shocked than fearful.

"Oh, you know how much I love you and Tom," she replied innocently. "I couldn't bear for the three of us to be parted, so I came back to help out."

At that point, I fainted. When I recovered, Tom was at my side."Are you okay, darling?" he asked.

"I thought I saw the ghost of Frances in the kitchen!" I replied. "I must have been dreaming!"

"No, Sweetums, she has returned. Look!" He held a baggie filled with celery and carrot sticks before my eyes.

And so, dear reader, that is how Frances and I became sister-wives to our beloved Tom. But it's strange that she's never around to nag Tom about his dietary atrocities or to pick up after him. Hmmm. Maybe I shouldn't have poisoned that radish...


Editor's note: Frances is alive and well, and the only one who's married to her husband Tom. However, Ellen does bake cookies.