Best Served Cold
The books always make it seem surreal, I think. I mean really, how often do wronged wives behead the lovers – or cut the brake line of the family car? Honestly. No, in real life that’s not the case. Prison cells would be full of women who had grounds for hysteric actions, lawyers making a fortune and citing moon cycles and hormone studies as defense suits. In real life, revenge has to be something…. subtle. Spiteful, pointed… poking a stick in the eye without anyone else really seeing it; know what I mean?
Not that I ever consider anything I would do would really constitute a vengeful act. I just don’t have the stomach for it.
I’ll just another sip of my tea while I calm a bit more. Really, I must be quite rational here. 10 years of marriage is not to be taken lightly, and I do have to think of my social standing. 10 years with this miserable stinking bastard who thinks its fine to dilly dally with his floozies… but I digress. Sorry. I should be thinking calm thoughts. Yoga was good for that – all that standing on my head and chi and blood flow and stuff. It was just terrible when our yogi slipped down the stairs after class that day – and just steps in front of us all, too! I wasn’t able to run down and help her as fast as the others, even though I was the closest – it must have been that extra 15 pounds she said I was carrying. Slowed me down a bit I guess. I hear the neck brace comes off in a few weeks and they expect she’ll be walking again come November.
There, that’s better. I feel much calmer now – thanks.
You know me, actually. I am the smooth, sleek haired Real Estate agent that everyone waves at on the way through the arcade. Or maybe I am the woman who wears the white jacket and holds the orange flag as she stands in the centre of the road, ensuring the school children cross safely. I am reliable, mildly invisible, and solidly dependable. I smile, I nod, I wave and I know everyone’s name. So while terrible things seem to happen to people around me, I remain untouched. Charmed, some say.
Perhaps so. I just like to think I am nice. Noble, you know.
I would never do anything nasty. Even when Sylvia from work stole my submission for the council application and put it into the manager in her own name. Of course I was peeved, but really, it wasn’t worth getting my knickers in a twist about. Funny, though, how she became so ill with the runs for days afterwards and was not able to attend the interview for the position. Imagine 3 days of stomach cramps out of the blue, just like that! Right about the time the syrup of Ipecac went missing from the first aid supplies too. Certainly made me chuckle! I do hope she liked the lamb stew I sent over to help her recover and gather some nutrients again.
Oh, and then poor Lydia. Remember her? At the Christmas party, too! In her pretty red dress and sparkly earrings, she was the centre of attention, and my, didn’t I make sure that told her how gorgeous she looked in those oh-so-high heels! Why, I even offered to hold her purse and fur coat while she went to the ladies room. Well, it wasn’t really a room, was it? One of those portable toilet rooms they had installed on the green especially for our outdoor party. Of course, when the cubicle tipped over, everyone came rushing to help – and wasn’t I the one who took her home, paid the cab fare and all? Leaving a party through the middle of the fancy white gazebo covered in excrement in front of 200 people is bad enough – paying the cab fare was the least I could do.
I am nice like that.
And of course, there was Jackson. He never did find out who poured milk through the open sunroof of his sport scar while he was on his overseas trip, did he? Mind you, it was helpful to me because I did not have to listen to those damn wheels spinning at 4AM every goddamned day as he sped off to his job at the bakery. Apparently they could not remove the smell at all. Bugger that his insurance had lapsed, he didn’t even notice it never arrived in his mailbox, yet the company says they posted the renewal at the same time they do every year. He does not seem to mind catching the bus too much… and I even offered to feed his cat every afternoon for him. I mean, a 2 hour commute twice a day does make the working day long.
Nice cat, and now I can lock her inside between feeds I don’t even have to worry about those nasty little gifts she would leave on the front mat from time to time. See? Nice person.
But husbands… husbands who cheat. Maybe they do deserve a little taste of their own medicine.
What do you think? After this nice cup of tea is downed, I am thinking I may have to indulge in a little revenge, just this once…
By Penny Dreadful