Don’t Drink the Water in Lick Skillet. EVER.

I haven’t written in a while and it’s because I’m good and pissed off. Not “I can’t believe you raised the price of bananas, I’m going to take my business elsewhere” pissed off, but more like “I’m going to overthrow your government” pissed off. You know, Viking-level pissed off.

Apparently, my child’s school is so freaking amazing at their jobs that they’ve managed to cure her autism. It’s brilliant, really, and will be a huge savings to the taxpayers and the health care industry. All it takes is simply declaring it to be so. Decide that the child is no longer autistic or the patient no longer has cancer, and they therefore no longer need any services or treatment, and then they’ll be fine. Incredible.

Now the fun begins. It’s revenge-plotting time.

Yes, I had to dig through a couple of drawers, but I managed to find my handy-dandy revenge notebook. It’s filled with all kinds of great ideas, and they range in severity from making sure you have a bad day all the way up to requiring Red Cross disaster relief support to clean up the damage and help the survivors. Sometimes, just sitting down and plotting in the notebook is enough to make me calm down, think rationally, and not end up in federal prison.

But not this time.

While my husband busies himself with revenge that involves hiring an attorney and gathering documentation, I’m unbelievably busy Googling, “How long it takes to permanently ruin your car’s interior after someone fills it with rancid pork products.”

My friend, a former redneck, offered his services by pointing out that he knew where all the really good covered wells are in Lick Skillet. I immediately pounced on this information.  I was a little overeager, because, as it turns out, he was kidding.

ME: Why did you bring it up if you weren’t going to tell me?

HIM: Well, I was kidding, since I didn’t think you would actually kill someone.

ME: First of all, what ever gave you that impression? Second, why would you bring up the wells if you thought I was going to kill someone?

HIM: You know, to hide the body.

ME: Wow. That is actually a really good idea!

HIM: Wait, if you didn’t know that’s a good place to hide a body, WHY did you want to know where all the good wells are?

ME: To poison the water supply, of course.

HIM: (stunned silence)

ME: What?

HIM: I know a really good attorney.

ME: Oh, we’ve already got the lawyer, my husband’s working on that.

HIM: No, the attorney YOU’RE going to need.

ME: Wait a second, wouldn’t a rotting human corpse thrown in a well still poison the water supply? So we could, like, get a two-fer out of this?

HIM: Stop talking. It’s important that you stop talking now. I’m a state official and I can’t be hearing this.

ME: Puh-leaze. You’re a tax collector. You’ve probably already been thrown down a few of those wells.

In the meantime, keep your fingers crossed that I don’t destroy any vehicles with leftover bologna or discard anything in the aquaducts. And keep your fingers crossed that my daughter still gets to be autistic next year.