The First Time I Killed a Man
a page from the sociopath memoir
The first time I killed a man it was not that hard. It was my first husband, and it was his own damned fault. He made me do it. I remember I was making a sandwich on the kitchen counter once, and he stepped up from behind me and began wiping up the bread crumbs and washing the knife before I’d even got the sandwich onto a plate. That’s just one example of how annoying he was. And then there was his yawn. He couldn’t just yawn like a normal person. He had to make loud squeaking noises and move his jaw back and forth like a mantis. How was I supposed to live with that? And the way he slurped his Jell-O? It was disgusting. One day I just couldn’t take it any more. I picked up the bread knife and stabbed him. Justifiable homicide, if you ask me. Ask any woman.
Killing my second husband was easier, because after a few months, I simply couldn’t stand the sight of him. Oh, he meant well, bless his heart, but for him, there was only one right way to do anything and it was always his way. His greatest pleasure was to give me detailed instruction on everything, as if I were a child. How often I should water the geraniums. The best way to arrange the silverware drawer. The importance of removing the lint from the dryer. The proper way to fold a fitted sheet. It just plain wore me out. A woman would need pretty low self-esteem to put up with that kind of thing for any length of time. I admit that rat poison was not ideal, but it did the job. Eventually.
I found it much harder to kill my third husband. He had his own set of irritating habits, but he was so damned good in bed – always so … um …generous in his attentions, if you know what I mean. It was hard to let that go. Nevertheless, he left orange peels on the coffee table, socks on the floor. He ignored an over-flowing waste basket and never washed his cup. He knew I’d cave in first and take care of everything. It got to be just too much. I dispatched him with a solid smack on the back of the head with a cast iron frying pan while he slept. It was painless. I think.
After my husbands were gone, my life became so much calmer – more predictable and orderly. No more men come around looking to marry me, and for that I am thankful. Now I live in this beautiful quiet hotel where kind people wait on me and bring me food. I have a lovely small room with a view of willow trees and the river, and every day birds come to visit with me.
Through the little bars on the window.
My apologies. I don’t know where this stuff comes from, but at times it has to be exorcised.
I'm just gonna keep my head down, clean up the orange peels, maybe do some laundry.
No need to apologize for where the stories come from - we get it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to empty the lint screen properly…she never does it right.