This morning, as my husband sat down to scrambled eggs, I sat down to coffee and a notebook. While he had been showering, I’d already been planning out the murder of one William Shaftoe– but it wasn’t interesting to me. So when I had my captive audience, I asked him, “How would you murder someone?”
And lovely boy that he is, he knew I was asking for writing purposes. He is used to seeing, for example, a book of poisons in our bedroom and a book cracked open to the “Head Wounds” chapter on my desk. This is life for him. It did, however, unnerve my mother when she stayed with us two summers ago. That was kind of funny, because we were getting on each others’ last nerves, and I was the one making her meals, and then one time in the kitchen she saw me reading my book of poisons. The look on her face was priceless!
Also, when he sees me industriously reading a name book, he doesn’t think it’s because we’re having another baby. The only time he was surprised at all was when I got this book, and I wrote about it here. Maybe he thought I was going to really get into Renaissance Faires and knit myself some chainmail? I do have a lot of grey yarn. I guess it was a possibility, and I don’t think he knows I already did the whole Renn Faire thing and got it out of my system. I was attracted to the whole playacting meets history thing– it was like walking into a new world, where everybody was at least kind of nerdy (which was comforting), and we all had a common historical interest. But the breaking point for me came when some really big armored-up dude at a bookstall picked me up and physically moved me from one spot to another without breaking character. Really, dude? Ugh. I officially had the creeps and didn’t go to another one for a really long time– until two years ago when I took my daughter, and she was sorely disappointed that there were no horses and no rides. She would not be consoled with a Medieval Teriyaki Stick, so we had to go. In haste!
I’ve totally gone off on a tangent, though. I was writing about murder. What I wanted to say was that my husband rattled off a bunch of possible ways to dispatch somebody, and now it was my turn to be surprised. Either he is a homicidal genius (!) or eleven years of watching Mystery! on PBS has rubbed off on him. Also, there were the twenty odd years of his mom watching Mystery! and Murder She Wrote. I suppose I can’t take all of the credit. However, they were all kind of standard issue ways and I am counting the hours until I can pick his brain and see what odd methods pop out.
Until then, I’ve got my notebook on the table, a nearby Pilot V-Ball, and another pot of coffee brewing. I’m listening to the Camera Obscura station on Pandora, but because I can’t figure out how to link or widget a Pandora station, here’s a video of the song that gets stuck in my head and cheers me up. I’m on a downward swing, but this song tricks me into thinking I’m going upward. It gets played a lot.