Hubby and I only have a few shows we agree on, but periodically we find ourselves entrenched in mystery-type programs, like Dateline and 48 Hours. The conversation inevitably turns all mushy and romantic as we start discussing how we would commit the perfect crime, hypothetically of course. Everyone knows if I were to kill my hubby, I would smother him with a pillow. (Lord help me if someone breaks into my home and smothers my husband while he sleeps, because I have put that out there in the universe so many times, I would definitely be the prime suspect.)
The other night we were discussing life insurance and how I stand to gain significantly more than he does. I pointed out that he would have to use his money to find someone to raise our children and suggested that perhaps he find a mail-order Russian bride. Then I advised him to “getcha one that doesn’t talk back this time.” He said next time he’ll get one who cooks, cleans, and provides other services. Ahem.
[private message to The Cluer & BooBoo and my brother Slim . . . the fact that we have been working on our wills lately and contemplating guardianship of our children should we get hit by a Mack truck tomorrow is purely coincidental.]
In all seriousness, if I die I want Hubby to pine away for me for the rest of his life. You think I’m kidding. I am not. I will not be one of those Love Story Jenny Cavalerri type women . . . all find-someone-to-make-you-happy and please-find-the-strength-to-go-on-without-me. No way. I want him to live the rest of his days missing me and telling people that he’ll never love again. In fact, I’m annoyed that all my old boyfriends got married. To other people! And there’s evidence of it on Facebook! That ain’t right . . . they’re supposed to be wallowing away in their parents’ basements, thinking about the one that got away. (That would be me.)
Hmmm. I’ve lost focus here for a second. Back to killing my husband . . .
I gotta say though, prison doesn’t always sound so bad. Three squares a day that I don’t have to cook or clean up after, a bed whose covers I don’t have to share, and a place to pee. I’m used to peeing with an audience, so there ya have it!
Anyway, this is what we have learned:
- Don’t choose a hit man who has a drinking problem and a tendency to utter the words “promise not to tell anyone?”
- Don’t go to your local CVS to stock up on duct tape, latex gloves, and rope.
- If you’re going to move a refrigerator-sized box from your front door to the flatbed of your truck, don’t let your neighbors see you doing it.
- Don’t take out a hefty life insurance policy (hefty - like $5,000!!!) on your spouse a week before you plan to off him/her.
- Don’t get your 1995 Ford Escort detailed immediately after you call 911 to report your spouse missing.
- The answer to “you’re not a cop, are you?” is never going to be “Why, yes. Yes, I am!”
- “Burglars” do not storm into your house, steal your wife’s jewelry and wreak havoc on all of your possessions except for your big-screen TV and your beloved baseball card collection.
- Don’t pose for a family portrait in which your wife and kids look smiley and happy, and yet you look menacing and creepy.
- Don’t tell Border Patrol that “it musta been in here when I bought the car.”
- The underside of the passenger seat is not a safe storage location for your illegal firearm.