Note to Self: Watch for Assassins
I’m not sure what my mother-in-law had in mind, exactly. But now I’m starting to wonder…
Selin Arslan, Pexels
Warnings: murder, divorce, mother-in-laws, assassins/hitmen, and a Princess Bride quote (I mean, what did you expect?).
When my mother-in-law asked my husband if he needed help getting a divorce, I was crushed. Actually, scratch that. Let me get the record straight. She said, and I quote, “do you need help out of the marriage?” To my husband.
That’s better, right? That wording doesn’t sound as serious as using the D-word (divorce, not the other D-word, get your mind out of the gutter).
And yet…
As I sit here with that clarification, I can’t help but wonder…
How else would one get out of a marriage?
Murder?!
Hm.
I’ve heard it said (many times, in fact) that “poison is a woman’s weapon.” So if murder was on the table, that seems like the most likely option. Perhaps it would be antifreeze slipped into my soda or iocane powder sprinkled on a serving of lasagne at the next family reunion. In the Princess Bride, I learned that iocane powder is one of the deadliest poisons known to man. Odorless, tasteless, and dissolves instantly in liquid.
Actually, now that I think about it, is iocane powder even real?
Damn. Another thing to add to my list of “Things I’m Disappointed to Learn in Adulthood.” Right alongside “Unicorns Aren’t Real,” “Power Rangers Aren’t Real,” and “Taxes Are Very Very Real.”
Poison isn’t the only way to off someone. Hiring a hitman (or hitwoman! Or hitperson!) is always an option. Though I have no idea how you’d hire one. You can’t just Google “Assassins for hire near me,” can you? I’m afraid to even try, honestly. What if that lands me on some FBI watch list?
I’ve only ever gotten in trouble once in my whole entire life.
Detention.
Third grade.
Missing recess that day was a total drag.
So yeah, I’m not fucking with trying to hire a hitman “for research purposes.” Besides, what if they end up being bad at their job? Do they have Google reviews?
I heard a story once of a woman being attacked late at night in her home. There was a struggle. A big, bloody, knocking-furniture-over and shattering-glass kind of struggle. Somewhere in the whole ordeal, she got the upper hand.
The hitman laid on the ground, bleeding out. She stood over him, phone quiet in her fist.
“Tell me who sent you, and I’ll call you an ambulance.”
Holy shit, that’s badass. Fucking. Badass.
The hitman gave her the name of the person who hired him to kill her.
You guessed it: her husband.
Apparently the woman called the hitman an ambulance, but it was too late and he bled out right there in her living room on the nice new rug.
I never heard the rest of the story.
I hope something poetically justice-y happened. Something where she gets sweet sweet revenge against her husband — not just a guilty conviction and a prison sentence. Something truly sweet. It’s the least she deserves after her own husband hired a hitman to kill her. I mean really, are men so afraid to have a fucking conversation?
I wonder what the Google Review would have turned out to be on that particular hitman by that particular husband. “1 star. Would give no stars if I could. Sent him to kill my wife, and she killed him instead, now I’m in jail. DO NOT RECOMMEND.”
Anyways.
I guess all this said, I’m just happy getting “out of the marriage” (no matter how it’s done) isn’t something my husband plans on doing anytime soon. No matter what my mother-in-law says.
But I guess one can never be too careful.
Note to self: watch for assassins.
This piece was originally published on my Medium.
