Near 500 words: The Three Sisters

Monica, Francesca, and Rosanna were sisters. They were Italian sisters. There is nothing like three Italian sisters. Their joy of life was irresistible. It was hard to keep from laughing when the three were in the room.

The problem was that Mario loved all three. It was hard for him to choose. Francesca was the oldest. And the sexiest. Monica was the best cook of the three. Rosanna was the youngest. And, well, she was Rosanna.

After a year of trying to figure out which one to date, he drew cards. He would never tell them what he had done. But he was tired of trying to figure out which to marry. This would settle it forever. It wasn’t even in his thoughts as to which would marry him. After all, he was such a handsome fellow.

Before he drew the cards, he crossed himself and said an “Our Father” and a “Hail Mary”. Then he got down to business. It was Francesca. Thank, God. She was the oldest and this is the one who probably was supposed to marry first. Little did Mario know that Francescea had other plans. She had never brought up the subject.

When he asked her, she said she was in love with another. She planned to marry him. Well, this threw Mario for a loop. No girl in the village had ever refused him. He was handsome, and everybody knew he was going to be a big star. It was only a matter of time before he took off for Rome to audition for the movies.

The next Mario saw the three sisters he did a foolish thing. He told the three he had drawn cards to find out which he should go out with. Francesca was the one the cards chose. Now he was so embarrassed but he wanted to tell them of his undying love. Since Francesca loved another, he had decided to let the other two choose. After all, he was a catch. Everybody in the village said so.

The three just laughed. They laughed so hard they couldn’t control themselves. Then Monica said, “We all love another and we plan on marrying him.”

Mario was heartbroken. No girl had ever turned him down. He was Mario, after all.

Rosanna then said, “You’re just not our type, silly boy.”

Mario went on a three-day binge. Then he woke up with the hangover of all hangovers. His head hurt. Then he crawled out of bed, washed his face and cleaned up. He put on his best suit and had breakfast. Nothing could change his moods the way his Mama’s breakfast could. Then he went and looked in the mirror and proclaimed, “You are Mario, the handsomest of the handsomes.”

He got on his Vespa and headed for Roma. Half way there, he stopped. He had to know. He just had to know who the three girls loved. It was early afternoon when he got back to the village. As he did, he saw the three women enter the Church of Santa Maria. He followed them inside.

Rosanna turned and saw Mario and she stood up from her kneeling. She had a smile on her face. It wasn’t just a smile. It was a Rosanna smile.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” she said to Mario.

“Wonderful?” Mario asked.

“Yes, the three of us have been accepted to become novices in the Order of St. Clare. Soon we will be Brides of Christ.”

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