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I'm reading a book that opens with a true story about a man who was on house arrest who went down to the police station and asked the police to lock him back up so that he didn't have to stay at home and argue with his wife all the time. That story is followed up with one about another man who after having a similar request rejected by police, robbed a near by store so that police had to arrest him.

My question is, what are some of the craziest things love or disdain caused by love has driven you to do? Don't hold back people!

For any readers, the book is called, Married Men Die First: A Blessing.
 

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The only thing I can think of is the time I caught my husband in an EA with a friend and neighbor. He insisted on going down to her house the next night to tell her it was over. I agreed because I was a basket case, a doormat, and completely in over my head about what to do with a WH.

But, while he was gone, I fixed dinner. I made his favorite meal of herbed roasted game hens with cherry and wild rice stuffing and fresh green beans. So, he comes home to eat and I'm there fixing his plate for him - something I rarely ever did, as we tended to each serve ourselves. I am careful to make sure he sees me double checking that I've served him a particular hen, with a clearly heavier concentration of herbs on the crisp brown skin. We sit to eat, and as he's digging into that heavily herbed game hen, I begin making small talk about my garden. Then I segue into chattering on about the kitchen garden and all the herbs and the new plants I'm trying this year. And how interestingly similar some of the more dangerous medicinal plants, even a couple of the poisonous ornamentals, look to some of the cooking herbs. And how we're going to have to be careful that no one confuses them and accidentally poisons themselves trying to roast a chicken.

It's tougher than you'd think to time happy, upbeat, "meaningless chatter" so that you deliver that last line right as he finishes the last bite of roasted chicken.

He looked up at me, his eyes got very big, and I could tell he was trying to decide if I would really poison him. I just smiled, took a sip of my wine and said, "You trust a woman with a fine scientific mind, a wide knowledge of herbal medicine, and private access to over 1400 acres of virtually unsearchable swampland, to prepare your food. Wouldn't it be nice if she could trust you to be faithful?" Then I got up, cleared the table and went to read "The Cat in the Hat" to our son.

There may be a history of passive-aggression in my family.
 

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We sit to eat, and as he's digging into that heavily herbed game hen, I begin making small talk about my garden. Then I segue into chattering on about the kitchen garden and all the herbs and the new plants I'm trying this year. And how interestingly similar some of the more dangerous medicinal plants, even a couple of the poisonous ornamentals, look to some of the cooking herbs. And how we're going to have to be careful that no one confuses them and accidentally poisons themselves trying to roast a chicken.
You are delightfully evil. I loved reading this this so much! :p



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The only thing I can think of is the time I caught my husband in an EA with a friend and neighbor. He insisted on going down to her house the next night to tell her it was over. I agreed because I was a basket case, a doormat, and completely in over my head about what to do with a WH.

But, while he was gone, I fixed dinner. I made his favorite meal of herbed roasted game hens with cherry and wild rice stuffing and fresh green beans. So, he comes home to eat and I'm there fixing his plate for him - something I rarely ever did, as we tended to each serve ourselves. I am careful to make sure he sees me double checking that I've served him a particular hen, with a clearly heavier concentration of herbs on the crisp brown skin. We sit to eat, and as he's digging into that heavily herbed game hen, I begin making small talk about my garden. Then I segue into chattering on about the kitchen garden and all the herbs and the new plants I'm trying this year. And how interestingly similar some of the more dangerous medicinal plants, even a couple of the poisonous ornamentals, look to some of the cooking herbs. And how we're going to have to be careful that no one confuses them and accidentally poisons themselves trying to roast a chicken.

It's tougher than you'd think to time happy, upbeat, "meaningless chatter" so that you deliver that last line right as he finishes the last bite of roasted chicken.

He looked up at me, his eyes got very big, and I could tell he was trying to decide if I would really poison him. I just smiled, took a sip of my wine and said, "You trust a woman with a fine scientific mind, a wide knowledge of herbal medicine, and private access to over 1400 acres of virtually unsearchable swampland, to prepare your food. Wouldn't it be nice if she could trust you to be faithful?" Then I got up, cleared the table and went to read "The Cat in the Hat" to our son.

There may be a history of passive-aggression in my family.
That is absolutely fantastic! I admire you so much, I hope I can achieve that level of evil one day..........lol
 

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Who knew evil with class existed! :D
A part of me is a little afraid that if I'd found out then about the serial cheating, I might have actually "accidentally" mistaken the belladonna for the basil. And I'm still pretty sure that I could have gotten away with it. Which is both a little frightening and, at the same time, somewhat comforting. It's interesting what you learn about yourself when faced with that kind of treachery.
 

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The only thing I can think of is the time I caught my husband in an EA with a friend and neighbor. He insisted on going down to her house the next night to tell her it was over. I agreed because I was a basket case, a doormat, and completely in over my head about what to do with a WH.

But, while he was gone, I fixed dinner. I made his favorite meal of herbed roasted game hens with cherry and wild rice stuffing and fresh green beans. So, he comes home to eat and I'm there fixing his plate for him - something I rarely ever did, as we tended to each serve ourselves. I am careful to make sure he sees me double checking that I've served him a particular hen, with a clearly heavier concentration of herbs on the crisp brown skin. We sit to eat, and as he's digging into that heavily herbed game hen, I begin making small talk about my garden. Then I segue into chattering on about the kitchen garden and all the herbs and the new plants I'm trying this year. And how interestingly similar some of the more dangerous medicinal plants, even a couple of the poisonous ornamentals, look to some of the cooking herbs. And how we're going to have to be careful that no one confuses them and accidentally poisons themselves trying to roast a chicken.

It's tougher than you'd think to time happy, upbeat, "meaningless chatter" so that you deliver that last line right as he finishes the last bite of roasted chicken.

He looked up at me, his eyes got very big, and I could tell he was trying to decide if I would really poison him. I just smiled, took a sip of my wine and said, "You trust a woman with a fine scientific mind, a wide knowledge of herbal medicine, and private access to over 1400 acres of virtually unsearchable swampland, to prepare your food. Wouldn't it be nice if she could trust you to be faithful?" Then I got up, cleared the table and went to read "The Cat in the Hat" to our son.

There may be a history of passive-aggression in my family.
Sounds like a Kathy Bates character. Love Kathy Bates.
 

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I used to sleep in my car overnight when my crazy ex was on the rampage. Wouldn't tell her anything. I'd just walk out during her tantrums and go out to the car to get away from her.

Oh, those days of gold!
 
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