Ruth was the practical sort. She had no patience for those who insisted on being miserable. “Self-appointed martyrs” she called them. So when neighbour Brent developed an allergy to peanut butter, Ruth had no qualms at dismissing “such nonsense” immediately.
“Don’t fool me into thinking you went for fifty years and then suddenly out of the blue you can’t eat peanut butter. It’s all in the head,” she said.
To prove her point she made a tin of delectable chocolate and coconut balls with a surreptitious spoon or two of peanut butter in the ingredients. “Once he’s eaten it and survives,” said Ruth, “I shall tell him in no uncertain terms that this peanut butter nonsense is all in his head.”
(The closing sentence for this story was suggested by Yvonne of Hello World. If you want to join in the fun of suggesting a future closing sentence for these stories, click here for a peek as to what’s what.)
Marica Peeperkoorn’s lover was an industrial chemist. He had most things her husband didn’t. Marica and her lover shared a common problem: how to get rid of Marica’s husband. The love-struck chemist came up with a syringe of poisonous concoctions.
“Somehow get your husband to swallow this stuff. He will die slowly and in agony, but he will die. And the perfect thing is, the stuff can never be detected.”
Marica knew exactly what she would do with it. She would mix it with the peanut butter. Her husband was the only one in the house who ate peanut butter. He loved it. Marica detested it.
Have you ever tried mixing peanut butter with poisonous fluid? The poison runs to the top and sticks out a mile. Marica had to go to a lot of trouble to mix the two properly. Even when she stirred both together the consistency wasn’t right. It was too runny. She ended up heating the mixture so that things evaporated a little. Next she put it in the blender. Then she returned everything to the peanut butter jar and placed it in the cupboard. What a lot of work! All she need do now was wait.
Just before her husband was due home from work, Marica got a phone call. Tragically her lover had had a heart attack. He had not survived. Marica didn’t know what to do. All her future security had disappeared in one medical event. She took the peanut butter jar and emptied its contents into the waste bin. Then she washed the jar and placed it back in the cupboard. Her husband was now safe and earning a salary and Marica’s short-term security at least was secured.
When Marica’s husband came home he had one thing to say: “I’ve been trying to say this for a long time so I’ll just tell it like it is. I want a divorce.”
Marica could’ve killed him. The problem was, the peanut butter jar was empty.