The most fucked up thing about this post is not that I accidentally poisoned my husband on our anniversary. It’s that some women will land here because they actually Googled “How to poison your husband.” If you are here because you Googled “How to poison your husband,” I look forward to seeing your story on 48 Hours. But don’t worry, Nancy Grace will have your back and find some way to spin your story into something worthy of a Lifetime movie.
So Calm-ass Husband and I had our second wedding anniversary. TWO whole years that he’s put up with my insane questions, like if I can have “one last go at him” when he dies and “Can you pick out my vagina from a photo lineup?“. Two years of putting up with my inability to recycle, forcing him to look at Victorian Porn, and my mega-PMS. So I wanted to make it a special anniversary.
I knew I would get him this game he’s been drooling over, “The Last of Us”, but I felt bad just handing it over to him. Although, I literally could have given it to him in the bag in which it came, kicked him in the nuts, and he still would have been insanely excited, and even overlooked the nut-kick. That’s how much he is into this game.
The morning of our anniversary I was racking my brain for ideas when I thought, “Well, I could just turn the house into the game (a zombie apocalypse game) and send him on a hunt for the it.”
I bought him the special edition version of the game, wrapped it and hid it. Then I decorated the house in what I imagine the post-apocalyptic world would look like. Which is apparently a bunch of crepe paper, balloons and red light bulbs. Scary movies always have red light bulbs.
Sidenote: who is changing the regular lightbulbs for the red lightbulbs when the killer is on the loose in scary movies? Like, is a side story some guy who’s all, “Fuck, another killer on the loose, time to change the lightbulbs.”? I may be on to a movie here. Take note, Nicholas Stoller. We’ll call it, “The Changer”, and show how the lightbulb changer is the unsung hero of killing-sprees. Maybe we even show how he apprenticed under another lightbulb changer. Plot twist: the master lightbulb changer is the killer.
Side, side note: You’re all probably wondering why I’ve chosen Nicholas Stoller to direct “The Changer”. I feel it needs a comedic component to it. Plus, he looks like he smells of new leather and woodsy cologne. Intoxicating.
So I set the stage to turn our cozy little Marin County home into a slaughter-zone one might find in some small hick-town. All it took was a trip to Target (see, Nick (are we on a first name basis?), I can keep the movie budget pretty low). This is my post-apocaplyptic world:
Then I hid the treasure hunt clues in balloons:
And, in staying true to the game, I made a shiv with which he could pop the balloons:
Also, I now have “how to make a shiv” in my Google search history, and am about to publish an article entitled “How to Poison Your Husband”, so I’m pretty sure I will be on the FBI watch list.
Since I knew he’d be coming in through the garage door, I gave him a little sneak peak as to what he was about to walk into:
And since chocolate cake with chocolate frosting is his favorite, I made him a chocolate fudge cake, with chocolate fudge buttercream frosting, covered with chocolate fudge ganache. I literally could not have packed more fudge into my husband
Weird, I don’t know why that keeps line-breaking.
Anyways, the cake was planted with one of his clues. And also may have been what later poisoned him.
And this is how it all went down:
Notice that I said it could be a contaminated cake? IT WAS TOTALLY A FUCKING CONTAMINATED CAKE!
Because I lovingly made my husband fettucine alfredo for dinner. Then gave him cake while we watched the movie, Stoker (Seriously – what. the. fuck. My and Nick’s movie is going to be SO much better than that self-indulgent piece.)
By the end of the movie, CAH had run into the bathroom and began projectile vomiting. And then started getting hives and itchy palms. And could not stop vomiting.
I finally got a text from him that said, “It’s not stopping. I can’t stop.”
And then a few minutes later, another text saying, “Just go downstairs to our bedroom, your anniversary gift is down there.”
So I, feeling like total jackass for giving my husband something that made him sick, headed down to our bedroom, where I open the bedroom door to see rose petals everywhere and, on our bed, a set of brand new Vera Wang sheets, embroidered with a line from our song “Home”, by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeroes:
And finally, my poor, exhausted, husband came downstairs and fell into our brand new sheets and passed out.
And at about 7am the next morning, he had to rush me to the emergency room because my shoulder was in complete spasm from my bulging disc.
And that is how I can sum up our 2nd wedding anniversary and how I poisoned my husband.
But, people who’ve been married for way longer than 2 years, we’ll look back on this some day and laugh, right??