Revenge. It's one of those words everyone knows and has their own mental image of what it means. For me, it incites the tingle of cold hands touching the innermost parts of your soul where shivers come from. ABC's TV show, Revenge is one of my favorites. And every week the cunning, devious nature of the characters curl my toes.
I’m the biggest coward this side of the Mississippi. I don’t do dark. I’m one of those who reaches for the door knob and in the instant before it opens I imagine all kinds of monsters and psychos lurking in the corners or under the cars in the garage. Or just behind the closet door. But I’m also a sucker for a scary book, television show, or movie. If done well. I also don’t do stupid. Sometimes scary is just plain dumb. For me, Stephen King is IT!
It's undoubtedly a conspiracy. To have me committed. Or worse. My only question is, "Why is the hubby trying so hard?" I'm doing a darn good job at this insanity thing without any help, thank you very much.
Two weeks ago, I shared a story about an avalanche of slushy, mucky snow that ended up on my head (see She Loves Him--NOT) and the hubby being banned from pushing my buttons. Oh, he pushes my buttons all right, just not the ones in my car.