One of the editors of Mothers Who Think -- who prefers not to be
humiliated by name -- was once sitting in the office of a therapist,
shredding soggy Kleenex at an accelerated pace over the misdeeds of a
dastardly loved one. "Maybe what you need," the therapist gently suggested,
"is not to just feel hurt, but to feel angry ..."
This sage advice, after a scant moment's thoughtful consideration from the
aforementioned editor, brought forth an unprecedented tirade of torture
fantasies and vituperative machinations. Bubbling up to the surface oozed
all sorts of delicious and painful scenarios: public confrontations
complete with fisticuffs, hidden cameras, six-figure book deals for memoirs
with characters identified only by initial, anonymous tips to the IRS,
runaway dry cleaning vans crossing fateful intersections at just the right
moment. As she gleefully spun out all the bloody possibilities, the
editor's therapist began to look a little concerned. "These are all, uh,
fantasies, right?" the therapist asked, nervously fingering her memo pad and almost imperceptibly recoiling. "You're not really going to ... do any of this stuff, are you?"
Most of the best bad things we'd like to do never actually get done, and
that's a good thing. But sometimes the best bad things get done by other
people, and that's even better. The rest of us can breathe a sigh of
relief that only this month's three drama queen candidates have to wrestle
with the conscience-scarring actions that follow. Don't forget to vote for
the best worst thing -- our new queen wins not only a special prize but
also the chance to take part in a little dry cleaning expedition ...