I was recounting to a friend just now the story of another friend who when her husband drover her out of their home after he had an affair and wanted to move the new model in, he went back (he didn’t realise she kept a key) while he was at work one day and systematically sat in his dressing room and cut every single button off every single shirt in his extensive designer wardrobe.
I tried to remember if I’d ever done anything naughty like that and couldn’t recall anything but then I remembered…
I was dating a guy who had a bit of an allergy to milk. It wasn’t a full on thing, if he had milk or butter he’d get a mild, itchy rash on his hands. This meant that whenever we had mashed potatoes I couldn’t add butter and milk to make them creamy as I liked and they were pretty bland as far as mashed potatoes went. But, whenever he’d peed me off I’d make him a nice cottage pie (minced beef, onions and carrots cooked in a rich gravy, topped with mashed potatoes and baked in the oven). It was his favourite and always helped to calm troubled waters.
He never did notice the coincidence whereby the day after a shepherd’s pie ‘make up’ he would for some strange reason have an allergy break out on his hands, just enough to irritate him for a day or two.
Me? Who me? I have no idea why it happened.
Anyone want to confess anything? Don’t leave me alone now feeling like the only horrid vengeful lady in blog land. Confession is liberating.