It’s Tortilla Time|

I was recently reminded of stunt I pulled when I was twelve years old.

She-who-shall-not-be-named was still a relatively recent addition to our ‘family,’ and I was obviously far from impressed. She was selfish, vindictive, and just overall despicable. What more could you possibly desire in a stepmother? She was about as amiable as swarm of killer bees. That is, after you approach their hive, rattle it, pluck it from the tree, and douse it with Coca-Cola.

This was after she had somehow managed to convince my father to rarely see Ben and I. She had taken charge of the farm, bastardizing it beyond recognition. It had somehow taken the form of an immaculate estate where you wouldn’t dare touch the contents without first washing your hands. A far cry from the casual country get-away it was intended to be.

She began yelling at us for the most frivolous of reasons, such as lying down on a couch or singing. I didn’t doubt that she enjoyed taking her anger and frustration out on us. She would constantly lecture Ben and I about how her parents’ divorce was far more traumatizing than ours, and that we had absolutely no right to ever feel bad about it.

She had crossed me one too many times, and I was going to make her regret doing so.

I sneaked into my mother’s medicine cabinet one day and discovered pills that resembled mouse duty uncannily. I discreetly packed a handful of these pills into my weekend bag, and was off for a weekend at the farm with my father and she-who-shall-not-be-named.

At the tail end of the weekend, just as we were about to leave, I scattered the pills in piles throughout the entire house. I placed the pills meticulously, making it very convincing that there were an army of mice present. I made sure to place a batch near she-who-shall-not-be-named’s sleeping quarters.

The next time I went to the farm I noticed an abundance of mouse traps scattered throughout.