The #SpankA2Z June Challenge is nearing an end :(
I thought I'd share something different today - a story I wrote years ago for a short story contest (it came 3rd) that has absolutely nothing to do with spanking, but I'm told it's quite a fun read.
“Aaargh my hair! My hair!” the shriek could be heard all over
the neighbourhood.
I suppressed a chuckle. This was turning out even better than I had
dared to hope it would! Unlike everyone
else in the cul-de-sac, I didn’t have to guess as to what could be upsetting
Marilyn; I knew. I had caused it.
“No! My
hair!” the scream came again, shriller this time.
The timing could not have been
more perfect: 5.30pm, just on the busiest time of the evening here, when the
men were coming home from work, when the wives were out in their gardens
gathering in the washing and calling the children for dinner; when the women in
the kitchens had their windows open and the sounds of the neighbourhood would
come wafting in. It looked like karma
was on my side.
Looking up the street, I could
see the neighbourhood women gathering on Marilyn’s front lawn, surrounding her,
their faces full of mock concern, like a scene out of Desperate Housewives. In reality, they were looking for gossip;
they didn’t care two hoots about what was actually happening to Marilyn’s
precious tresses. Marilyn was not the
most popular woman in the neighbourhood, and the other women, once they found
out what was happening to her, would be as chuffed as I was.
I can’t help myself – I walk the
several houses up the street and join the growing crowd on Marilyn’s lawn, and
watch with glee while she runs her fingers through her hair, pulling out
fistfuls of broken, burnt hair. Some of
it is falling out at the roots leaving bald patches, other strands are breaking
off, the ends frizzled and fried. In any
case, her hair-do is ruined. Marilyn is
proud of her hair, spending hundreds of dollars every month at the hair salon,
buying expensive shampoos and conditioners, using deep treatments every
week. This effort does pay off – before
I got my vengeance by way of her shampoo bottle yesterday, her hair was
beautiful. The long, flowing blonde
locks were wavy and thick, cascading abundantly down her back, shining in the
sun. Most of the women who lived in this
exclusive cul-de-sac were jealous of her hair; I wasn’t the only envious
one. That’s why I’m sure they were all
secretly delighted watching the scene playing out before them now.
***
It started nearly a fortnight
ago now, all over a gorgeous pink bra that I found in my laundry hamper that I
washed and put in the pile of clean clothes belonging to my teenage
daughter.
“What’s this bra doing here
mum?” she asked me that afternoon. “You
know it’s not my size.” Actually, I
didn’t. All I knew was that it didn’t
belong to me. After nursing four kids,
there was no way I could fit into a bra like that, and even if I could, pink is
not my colour.
“Whose is it then?” I asked.
“Only two people in this house wear bras, and it certainly isn’t mine.”
“Well mum, I assume it belongs
to the woman dad’s been secretly meeting for the past month. He must have accidentally brought it home
with him.”
My jaw dropped. My body froze. “Woman?
Secret meetings?” I gasped. What
did this mean? To my mind, there was
only one thing it could mean, and I meant to stop it. Once I’d found out who the “other woman” was,
of course.
So I went door-to-door around
the neighbourhood with the bra, claiming the dog had brought it home the other
day and I had just now got around to washing it for them. If you knew my dog you’d know this story
didn’t sound too far-fetched – my dog brings presents home on a regular basis,
although usually of a more impersonal nature.
Shoes, outdoor toys….that sort of thing.
Never before has he brought home ladies lingerie, although it is
possible that he is expanding his tastes, to please the males that live in this
household.
The bra was Marilyn’s. I should have known that, I suppose. Not only did she have the most coveted hair
in the street, she also had the best body.
That lacy pink bra would have looked fabulous on her. Marilyn didn’t claim the bra though, her
husband did. So she didn’t know that I
knew. If she had, things probably would
have worked out differently. She would
have been on her guard, and she never would have used that dodgy shampoo. And all the neighbourhood women wouldn’t be
gathered on her front lawn now, pretending to be concerned, but secretly
thrilled with their afternoon’s entertainment.
Secret meetings…. other woman….
Marilyn’s bra… my mind working overtime, I jumped to the most obvious
conclusion and started plotting my revenge.
Oh how it would be sweet!
The hardest part was not
confronting my husband with what I believed I had found out. I seethed inside, but managed to hide it from
him pretty well. No one suspected that I
knew, they believed their secret was safe, and continued their secret
rendezvous in my husband’s lunch hour every few days.
I had a real hard time coming up with ways of
getting back at my husband; I spat in his coffee and peed in his shoes on a
regular basis, but that was about it. Oh
I knew the old trick about putting fish behind the curtains, but how do you do
that when you are the housewife? Plus, I
didn’t want him to know that I knew… because then he would tell Marilyn… and my
chance at vengeance would be ruined. I
had the perfect plan, I just had to wait for the right time to carry it out.
My opportunity came sooner than
I expected – the very next day Marilyn went out and left her bathroom window
ajar. Feeling as dodgy as all get-out,
like all my morals had gone out the window, I nearly chickened out, then
reminded myself I was doing this for a good cause. Well maybe not a good cause… but she
certainly deserved it. And I knew I’d
never get caught.
Sneaking up to the bathroom
window I pulled it open far enough to reach in and grab her shampoo bottle off
the shelf in the shower. Good, it was
nearly full. She wouldn’t suspect a
thing! Racing home with it, I emptied
most of the shampoo into a bowl and topped the bottle up with hair
remover. Returning just a little bit
more of the shampoo to the bottle, I shook it like crazy to mix the liquid, and
then tested it. The consistency was
almost perfect, and the smell wasn’t too far off normal. In the shower, she’d never notice it. Who inspects their shampoo before putting it
on their head? Adding just a wee bit
more shampoo to the neck of the bottle so it would smell right when she opened
the lid, I screwed the lid back on, and quickly snuck back to Marilyn’s house
and reached in the window and put the bottle back on the shelf in the shower
where it belonged. No one saw me, and if
they had, they would have pretended they didn’t. As I’ve already said, Marilyn isn’t the most
popular woman in the neighbourhood.
Don’t ask my why, I don’t actually know.
Maybe she just rubs people up the wrong way. Or maybe she’s sleeping with all our
husbands.
***
The waiting was the
hardest. I couldn’t wait to see if my revenge
plot had worked. I was so excited about
it that I even stopped peeing in my husband’s shoes, although I still
remembered to spit in his coffee. But,
with karma so obviously on my side, I didn’t have long to wait. The very next afternoon, Marilyn came running
out of her house shrieking about her precious hair, the neighbourhood woman
gathering to watch. And you know the
rest.
***
What you don’t know is that I
made a huge mistake. I ruined the hair
of an innocent woman, through jealousy and jumping to the wrong (but most
obvious) conclusion. Never mind my
husband’s peed-in shoes or his spat-in coffee, he still doesn’t know about
either of those, so they don’t count.
(Although how he didn’t notice the awful stink wafting out of his shoes
is beyond me! Does he really think his
feet smell that bad?)
It turns out that my husband had
planned a cruise for my upcoming birthday, but was embarrassed by his lack of
dancing skills. Knowing that I was an
accomplished dancer (or used to be, many years ago, before having kids) he had
been sneaking to Marilyn’s during his lunch hour as often as he could, so she
could give him dancing lessons. She had
been a semi-professional ballet dancer back in the day, before she fell and
broke her ankle, which explained why she still limped a bit on cold, wet
days. Missing ballet, but unable to do
it, she had taken up ballroom dancing and was amazingly good at it. And out of the kindness of her heart, she was
teaching my husband so he would be able to dance comfortably during the
surprise cruise he had planned for me.
And my dog actually had dragged
the bra home; my son had found it outside and put it in the laundry hamper,
assuming it belonged to his sister. So
when I carted the bra all over the street trying to find its rightful owner, I
hadn’t been lying after all.
Unsurprisingly, this knowledge
did not make me feel any better. I had
done something terrible, and knowing that I had unwittingly been honest to my
neighbours when I had meant to lie to them did nothing to ease my guilty
conscience. I knew what I must do, but I
just couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Marilyn has never suspected
anything, she thinks her shampoo was dodgy and has since changed brands.
I’m really nice to Marilyn now, going out of
my way to be a good friend, a good neighbour, and gaining a good friend in
return. Now that I actually know
Marilyn, I don’t know why she is unpopular, I really have absolutely no
idea. I suspect that maybe it is just
jealousy. Maybe that’s just how women
get when they are bored.
When I hear any nasty gossip
about her, I go out of my way to put a stop to it. I make time for her, I chat to her when I see
her in the street. But that’s about all
I do. She doesn’t know it was me who
contaminated her shampoo, and she never will.
I don’t have the guts to ‘fess up to what I did; besides what would be
gained by telling her? I say this to
myself every day, to try and justify my cowardice, but it doesn’t work. The guilt remains. I will always feel guilty for what I did to
Marilyn’s hair, and it is with great relief that I watch it growing back
longer, thicker and more beautiful than ever.
Her new brand of shampoo is really working, I must find out what she
uses.
I have learnt one really
important lesson though – never jump to conclusions.
Check out the other #SpankA2Z participants below:
This was a great and fun read Kelly, thank you for sharing, I really enjoyed this and parts had me giggling. Peeing in his shoes and the dog and the bra lol. Great moral to the story, and so true.
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Roz
Thanks Roz, I had a lot of fun writing it :)
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