Here ya go! Constructive criticism is more than welcome!
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Women.
Really, how I became to be lumped together with such creatures I shall never know. They twitter and chirp, scurrying this way and that. They preen, glancing inconspicuously into any reflective surface to reassure themselves that they are, in fact, as lovely as everyone tells them they are.
I fought not to roll my eyes. I stood with the recently remarried widow⎯ God bless Hortensio⎯and would rather not spark another confrontation. She’s hardly worth my time. Then I saw Bianca basking in the glow of her circle of admirers, and I couldn’t restrain my eyes from making their journey from her beautiful, young, rapturous face to the ceiling and back again.
I am the shrew that was married. I am the woman who used to be interesting, and now am simply a person to invite to banquets such as these.
I glanced towards the room where we had just exited moments before. I heard raucous laughing, and for a moment believed that I would have been more comfortable in the men’s chamber than in this den of ignorant peacocks. They had no idea what life is like outside their silk draped existences. There are struggles and pain. Misery even.
I don’t deny that I am accustomed to fine things. Like any other person, I enjoy dressing in rich clothing and tasting the superior food and drink that comes with privilege and rank. But unlike these women, these wives, I knew how it felt not to be constantly surrounded by pleasure and comfort.
Petruchio.
Others have tried to explain how I came to marry that swindler, that churl. She couldn’t possibly live in her father’s house all her life, they said. That poor man, he would surely die an early death. And marriage? Any man who married her would have to be desperate, duped, or simply deranged.
But my husband was none of these things. I understood. There was more to him than what any of these societal buffoons knew. There was a game to be played, and I had just begun learning the rules.
A man appeared in the doorway separating the women from the men. Odd. We’d only been absent a few minutes at most. It was the servant of Lucentio, my sister’s new husband. What was his name? Bondiello? Brelliono? No matter.
He approached Bianca. I watched with curiosity as he bowed and spoke to her. Bianca, holding a glass of wine, smiled and then laughed. “Oh no, of course not. I am busy. I cannot come.”
The servant⎯Biondello, that’s it⎯had a look of extreme bewilderment. He took his leave and returned to the men’s chamber. A moment later, more laughter rang out, and loud voices were heard. I could pick out my own husband’s voice, but could not hear the words.
Biondello reappeared at the door. He looked flushed and apprehensive as he searched the room. His eyes landed on the widow, standing beside me. He approached.
“My lady,” he stammered. “My master would entreat you come to him forthwith.”
The widow looked down on him with disdain. “My husband?”
“Yes, mistress.”
She scrutinized him a moment before turning away and signaling a servant who was distributing wine. “My husband has some goodly jest in hand. I will not come. I bid that he come to me.”
That poor Biondello. I held in a bark of laughter as his face turned a pasty, unhealthy hue. He bowed and scampered back through the doorway.
I knew what was happening. I had grown used to Petruchio’s games. And I knew how to win.
I waited expectantly. The widow had wandered off in search of wine⎯like she needed more⎯ and I stood alone in nearly the center of the room, facing the empty doorway. I ignored the curious glances of the women around me.
Petruchio’s servant, Grumio, entered the room. He saw me immediately and raised an eyebrow. I simply gazed at him expectantly. He approached.
“My mistress,” he said, “My master commands that you come to him.”
I nodded. Without a word, I strode to the door and passed through.
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Just so you all know, I'm also posting this to Fanfiction, which I discussed previously. Hopefully I get some sort of response there, so I'll keep you all updated!
