I’ve never killed a man with a nail file. I was thinking about that the other day. I mean I’ve maimed and murdered with every other tool in my arsenal but not, what has to be, the most obvious one. Twenty years.
That just seems crazy to me.
But who am I to talk about crazy, right?
You would think it was a lady’s second weapon of choice – after poison which is so obviously the stereotype of all murderesses. Oh look at me, I’m a woman, I’m so dainty. I can’t get my hands dirty so I have better slip rat poison into the soup.
While poison is fun, it is by no means the only way for a woman to kill someone. Like men, everyone has their kinks and quirks. Everyone has their preferences and murder should not be limited by gender. If they want to slaughter someone with a chainsaw then that is their right.
FREEDOM FOR THE OPPRESSED!
I was talking about nail files.
In my twenty years of serial murder I have never, to my recollection, took someone’s life with a nail file. Which is a damn shame because those things are fun to poke people’s internal organs with.
That’s right. That’s Victim Number Three since I went on hiatus – and it’s only been two weeks, this time. I’m getting better. Having a focus – torturing Daniel – has really helped. I knew Dr. Owlface wasn’t a total crockpot. Which reminds me, I need to reschedule my appointment.
I focused on who was in Daniel’s circle, but far enough removed that he wouldn’t be immediately implicated – I’m saving that for later in the game.
You wanna talk about stereotypes. Plumber’s crack, dirty mustache, wife beater in the middle of winter – granted we haven’t had as cold a winter as we usually do. He asked in no uncertain terms if I was lookin’ for a “tune up?” I almost gagged on the smell of axe and grease.
Regardless of his appearance, Daniel seems to swear by the man when it comes to his car. I will admit that he did a very good job of fixing my own vehicle while making obvious car-related sex jokes. He knows his cars, I’ll give him that.
I had the decency to pay him before I killed him. See? I’m the serial killer with heart. Well…a heart.
Anyways, I had a whole arsenal of weapons at my disposal in the garage but instead I dug into my purse – call it a gut instinct, ha! – and stabbed him with this gorgeous crystal nail file. I hated to dull the edge but I got to take my rage out on the Mario lookalike since one strike just wasn’t enough.
So now he’s dead, I’m satisfied, and Daniel is pissed off. He stormed up to my front door yesterday as I was leaving for work. He was purple and fuming like the hilarious little eggplant he is. Said he went to take his car into the shop only to find police tape all around it. What the fuck was my problem? He thinks I’m trying to isolate him.
I told him he was absolutely right. He’s all mine.
We kissed for the first time since his birthday dinner. He hasn’t improved. He pushed me up against the door and while I love a little aggression now and then, he was all teeth and tongue and his face was still splotchy and purple. And then when he pulled back, he hit my head against the door. Bastard. I probably have a bruise.
James was pissed off when he came downstairs to find me swaying on my feet, dizzy from that damn door. When I told him about the exchange, he was mad as hell. I thought he would go after Daniel but instead we made out on the kitchen counter until the kids came downstairs. I swear, I started by assuring him that I was feeling better…and then I showed him that I was feeling better. It’s a thing.
It was really nice, actually. We haven’t done a lot of that stuff in a while. Either we’re busy or just not in the mood to really act like randy teenagers. And we did promise that we’d tone it down when we know there are others in the house.
We are horrible role models for parenthood – which is why we are still never having children of our own.
I would like to think that we’re a good role model for what a good relationship is. Maybe. A little. For who we are: we make a great couple. And I think that counts for something.
It doesn’t hurt that we’re both smoking hot in each other’s eyes and are still insanely in love after seven years and two teenagers. Plus my mother. I know our anniversary is a few months away, and I don’t like to celebrate the consumerist holiday known as Saint Valentine’s Day, but maybe I’ll do something nice for my husband tonight.
Assuming he doesn’t end up taking a late shift for the fifth time in two weeks. I always forget that winter is hard on the police. I know my few extra murders can’t be helping but everything is so much darker in the winter (and I’m not just speaking in a literal sense).
To my local police force, I salute you.
To everyone else, you know what I’m going to say.
As always, dear readers,