How To Kill A Husband

Mom quit killing off husbands the year I turned ten. It was the same time that lazy Mr. Humphries from across the street went missing, and the police started digging up our backyard. Dad said that they even dug holes all around our cottage.

It all started when we were going to Grandma’s house, our trunk filled to the top with Christmas cookies. My favorite was the icing covered sugar cookies; I knew they were there somewhere in the middle of all the rest. Any time I thought about them for too long my mouth would get all drooly.

“Look, look at that,” Mom said slapping Dad’s arm to get his attention. We were stopped at a streetlight and Mom was waving her arms around and pointing at a woman on the street. “Her husband is just sitting there behind the wheel and not even helping that poor woman.” Mom’s voice was all mad like it gets when I snitch something I wasn’t ap’posed to. “If that was my husband I’d lock him in the trunk and ask him how he liked that,” she muttered.

Dad clucked his tongue and quickly glanced into the backseat where Jesse and I were fighting our own private war called “Sit on your own side of the car.”

“Patsy,” he said, “little pitchers.”

As soon as we heard “little pitchers” both Jesse and I sat up straight-like and looked at the woman loading bags into the trunk of her car.

“They have to learn proper manners some time, David,” Mom said. “Look over there children,” she instructed, pointing at the man behind the wheel. “That is a husband without any manners. If he was my husband I’d lock him into his trunk permanently. I expect you two to have better manners when you grow up.”

We nodded our heads, but when it looked as if it was nothing more than another soon-to-be-dead husband, Jesse and I returned our attention to more important matters. “Dad, Jesse’s touching me,” I whined.

“Jesse, don’t touch your sister.”

“But Dad, she’s got her hand on my side of the car,” he retorted.

“Abby, get your hand off your brother’s side of the car,” Dad said automatically.

“Aw, Dad,” I complained.

Later on that night, on the ride home, we were full to the top on Grandma’s roast beef and mashed potatoes. She let me eat four sugar cookies for dessert and my mouth wasn’t even a tiny bit drooly when I thought about them.

“Can we listen to WKRP on the radio dad?” Jessie asked. He meant WRAP, but we all knew the story behind it, and I could see Mom and Dad give a kinda smile in the dark.

Mom switched the radio on just as the news started and I gave a quiet groan in the back seat. The news was just all blah, blah, blah. “Man shoots dog from barking too loud,” the announcer said.

“If that was my husband I’d shoot him,” Mom said.

“Patsy,” Dad said, and sighed.

“Oh my God! Will you look at that,” Mom exclaimed as we drove by a man and woman walking on the street holding hands. “It’s -5 outside and look what he has her parading around in.”

Jesse and I sleepily checked out the parading couple but neither of us saw anything interesting so we just shrugged at each other.

“He must be 25 years older than her. What a jerk, walking around making his arm candy wear a miniskirt. If that was my husband I’d tie him naked to an ice floe and set it adrift.”

Once at home we had all just settled nicely into our PJ’s when the doorbell rang. “Who in the world could that be at this time of the night?” Mother exclaimed.

When Dad opened the door two great big policemen stood there. “Sorry to bother you folks at this time of the evening,” the taller of the two said. Jessie and I just stood there, our mouths wide open; we had never seen a for-real policemen this close before. “We’re investigating a missing person’s report. Would you happen to know a Mr. Don Humphries from across the street?” he asked.

“Sure I know Don,” Dad said.

Mother just nodded her head behind him. I think her mouth was as wide as the two of ours. “You two go on up to bed,” she said when she noticed us creeping closer.

I wouldn’t have missed this for all the sugar cookies in the whole world, so we just moved back enough so she couldn’t see us no more.

“He’s been missing for over a week,” the shorter policeman said. His fuzzy brown hair stuck out of his hat just touching the top of his ears. He winked at me and Jessie.

“Did you try the trunk of his car?” my brother asked. “That’s where Mom sticks her husbands that are lazy.” We both knew that Mr. Humphries was really lazy. Mom said that’s why his grass weren’t never cut right.

Both officers jumped a bit just as if they had accidentally stuck their fingers somewhere they shouldn’t have, just like I done last week.

“Or buried under our garbage cans,” I said.

“Did you check the bottom of our pool? Mom ties some guys to the drain-covers by the shoelaces,” Jessie said.

“Or on a ice floe, he could be there,” I added helpfully.

“Walled up in the basement,” Jessie exclaimed. “We gots hundreds of them in there.”

“How about the burning barrel?” We both nodded in agreement on that one. Husbands who were very bad went in there.

The next day Dad said that Mom was staying in a hotel where the policemen all wanted to talk to her, but we didn’t feel jealous cause we got to watch while a big yellow machine started digging holes in our backyard. It was way cool.

Image Credit

“TX – Mom in my Uncle Police Car” by Inventorchris. Creative Commons Flickr. Some rights reserved.

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