I am not usually a vengeful person. Pushed to my limits, however - watch out! My sense of perverted humor combined with revenge is scary. No one ever felt its wrath more than did my husband, while we were still dating in college
On my 21st birthday I was all alone, in my dorm room waiting for "Bob" to return. He'd gone hiking with a friend but had promised to return on time to take me out. For dinner, and my first "legal" drink. I was waiting, and I was mad.
My anger began to turn to worry, and then to fear. It was cold out. I mean cold-as-a-witch's-ass, don't-lick-the-flagpole cold. Ten inches of snow covered the ground. And Bob had been gone a good five or six hours. I did what anyone in love does in a similar situation. I panicked.
I called the wife of Bob's friend. She'd heard nothing but was worried too. I called the park ranger's office. I called the police station in that area, hoping for news. I would have called the White House, the Lone Ranger, and the Canadian Mounties if I'd had their numbers.
Have you ever driven down the road at dusk, and there was a squirrel in the middle of it? And it just sits there, maybe quivering back and forth, not knowing which direction to run, its little eyes shining in the headlights? That's exactly how I felt. I couldn't do a THING and that lack of control scared the shit out of me.
At this point I was in tears and frantic. Finally my phone rang. Not Bob. The wife. Her husband had finally called. They got lost, hiked over 20 miles in the freezing cold, and finally found a payphone. She relayed a message from Bob: Call Bob's mom and get the linguini-and-clams recipe. WHAT?!? Why didn't HE call me!?! Not, I'm OK?!?? Not, I'm sorry?? He wanted me to cook, on my birthday!?! was the only thing that went through my little mind.
Obcenities flew from my mouth so loudly the girls next door came running in. Did they have any alcohol? was my question. They were under 21, and I was the hall resident assistant, but I didn't care. My stress was relieved, but my anger and indignity had been evoked. Revenge was imminent.
My eyes fell upon Bob's suitcase. Out came his underwear (his last clean pair), a second or two under running water soaked them through, and then I popped them into the freezer of my mini-fridge. Hah!
Forty minutes later Bob returned. Frozen. Miserable. Another hiker had directed them down the wrong path. Did I hug him? Kiss him? Tell him how worried I'd been. Nope. I'm surprised the heat of my anger didn't thaw him out instantaneously right then and there.
Bob just stood there and took my ravings. Then he took a shower. Upon returning to my room, he searched in vain for his underwear. A giggle escaped my lips. Then a chuckle. Followed by a guffaw, a chortle, and then an outburst of hysterical maniacal laughter. "They're in the freezer!" I squeaked out. Frozen like a rock.
Somehow we managed to stay together. Bob forgave me for my temper and my irrational behavior. I forgave him for messing up an important day in my life. Today Bob laughs about this episode, and has his revenge as well. He tells this story simply 'cause he knows I'm now embarassed as hell that I acted that way. I ain't always proud, y'know. Or perfect. Right, Bob?