“A woman’s place is in the kitchen!” Bob bellowed at his wife, signaling for another Bud Light from the fridge. “Pop the top this time for me, baby.” He belched loudly and scratched himself as he flipped through the channels. Betty timidly placed a beer on the end table, delicately laying a coaster underneath it.

They’d just finished another argument about Betty attending college classes. For so long she had wanted to learn, to learn anything really. Maybe she could be a teacher or work for a charity or write stories. Who knew? All she knew was what her mother taught her- and that was to get a man with a job that didn’t need much attention in the bedroom. The girls in her family were raised with an attitude of servitude.

But Betty was tired of playing the part of maid in the bathroom, sandwich-maker in the kitchen, and ----- in the bedroom. Her mother may have believed in slaving over a hot stove and quilted sheets, but she would make a life for herself. The utter humiliation of serving such a disgusting pig as Bob knifed her to her very core. She’d even wondered if she could overdose on Bob’s anti-acid medication. What an ugly human being he was!
His belly hung out from his faded wife-beater. He snorted and grunted in ways that made you wonder if he was all human. “Yo, babe can you make me a sandwich?” he hollered from his indented spot on the couch.

And Betty did as she was told. She took out the turkey and placed it gently on one slice of bread. She unwrapped a slice of cheese and placed it on the other piece of bread. A little squirt of mustard and a secret ingredient. Betty liked to refer to it as her dark secret, the dark secret that lay underneath the sink at the back of the kitchen cabinet. She sprinkled, with love, a teaspoon of tasty arsenic. Boy, it is a good thing Betty knew her way around the kitchen.