It was hot that day. Really hot. The sun was blistering an oozy yellow and the sky was bubbling with fright. Even the strongest of the daisies couldn't withstand the withering heat. People escaped in droves to doors and cool windows, enviously spying the few children who dared step foot upon that heated soil.

I, of course, was not one of these children, for, as you may recall, I am neither a child nor a fan of the outdoors. It is not that I have anything against the outdoor, I was quite an expert in girl scouts. Or, rather, my own made up version of Girl Scouts. Like I said, my family didn't have lots of money, even for dumb things like that.

But that doesn't really matter, I suppose. What does matter, though, is that goddamn sun. It was just so freaking hot! I mean, really hot. How the hell concrete didn't just melt right on the spot I can never say. But the kids endured it, because that's what kids do: endure.

With the air conditioner whirring lazily around me, I sat in my oversized leather lazy boy, lounging, if you will, in wait for my prey.

Now, when I say prey, I mean no disrespect. I'm no frustrated feminist who takes her anger out on men or anything like that. And I have nothing against Latinos either. I think their a fine race. I mean, probably, I don't really know a lot of Latinos if we're being perfectly honest. But I can only assume their good people. Otherwise, Mexico would be a real shit hole. And have you been to their resorts? Fabulous. So, like I said, I have nothing against nobody, except that goddamn pity I was about to pry open.

There I go rushing myself again. Where was I? Right right. Lounging in the cool, winter breeze, believed to never come.

So as I lounged I took a little nap, as people tend to do, and awoke to the sound of gears turning. Now, obviously, it was no fancy contraption or anything like that, I live in Brooklyn for God sakes! Anyways, hearing this, I pounced. And not in that lethargic kitten way either, I mean really pounced.

Now, I suppose, you're probably wondering why I pounced in the first place. I mean, women don't pounce for no reason, right? Well, most of the time, yes. And this was certainly one of those times. But you can never be too weary of a suspicious woman. They always know, you know. Call it woman's intuition or instinct or whatever, but we always know. It's just in our nature. I'm sure you women can agree.

You see, the man walking through that door, was a lying cheating bitch. Yea, I know, a real cliche! But what can you do?

How do I know?

Well, that's a real doozy.

So about two months before the incident, say, mid May, I started getting real curious. No reason in particular, me and my man were married for quite awhile, say two years or so. But, well, lately, something had just been off.

I mean, we were never like those couples you see on tv who hide all their texts or anything stupid like that. We were very open people. I'd steal his phone, he'd steal mine, nothing unusual. But lately, well, maybe a month before May, he started taking real good care of his phone. And I don't mean in that gentle care for a kitten kind of way either. No, I'm talking the I just stole a pirates booty and I don't want nobody to know none of it kind of way.

So, of course, this only made me terribly suspicious, so I started to snoop, and I mean really snoop. We're talking some Nancy Drew meets Scooby Do shit. Like Mission Impossible meets James Bond. The real deal. The whole shebang.

So I start snooping and he start getting all curious himself, so I gotta start snooping even harder. But that damn man won't take a damn finger off his phone! It's like he's glued to it or some shit like that! So what am I supposed to do? Well, I do the only thing I can do. I call Stephen.

Whose Stephen? Well, he's a friend. We go way back, you know. Like before Harvard back. If the rules weren't so damn strict, we wouldda been roommates. But, ya know, with him being a guy and me being a gal and we not being in a relation or anything like that, we had to make due.

Anyways, so I call up my old pal Stephen up, knowing he'll know just what to do in this kind of situation. And guess what? He does! Like right out of a movie!

So I start asking him all these questions and he start using his big ole brain to hack into his phone or whatever using some cell tower thing that I don't really understand and he start sending me all his text messages and I start freaking out, cus, ya know, he's a lying cheating whore and all.

Now, of course, I'm a very reasonable woman, so, of course, I confront him about these injustices first. Let him tell his tale and all that. I'm not a psycho bitch or anything like that. So he goes on blabbing about how he's finally fallen in love and our marriage was a big mistake and how I would never really understand and how he was just lying to himself and all that and how his religion forced him to be this way and his mommy and daddy would never approve and how I just can't understand because I've never been told I couldn't love what I wanted to love.

Turns out, he was in love with a bunny.

Now I know, I know, why the hell would I freak out over a bunny? It's just a goddamn animal for fucks sake! And what about those texts? Didn't you say there were texts?!

I know! I know! It seems confusing. And it is. So just give me a minute to explain.

First of all, he wasn't texting no damn bunny! Do I look like a damn fool? I sure as hell know he can't text no bunny. No, no, he certainly can't do that! But you know what he can do? Text a psychic. Yup, that's right! My husband was in love with a bunny who spoke through the spiritual world of psychics, ahi have, of course, could only be obtained through a mighty weekly fee. A real scam artist she is.

But I respect my husband and I respect his decisions so I go about the situation real careful like, cus, ya know, people can get real offended about that kind of stuff. So I softball him some easy questions like do you love me and did you ever love me and stuff like that and he gives the typical of course not and it was just a sham and you'll never understand and stuff like that.

So I give him the benefit of the doubt and all, cus he's in love with a bunny and all, and start to suggest some simple solutions like a divorce and all that. But no! Suddenly Jackson gets all offended and starts talking all biblical and quoting scripture and shit like that! My husband! The man cheating on me with a bunny! A real life bunny!

So I try to talk some sense into him but he won't listen. So then I try some other tactics but those don't work too well either. So then I suggest he just stop paying the psychic. If he's really in love with the bunny, why should he have to pay to be happy? Right? I mean, if I were in love with a bunny that's what I'd do.

So I figure he'll be real into this plan and figure I could just slide in the whole open relationship thing, since there ain't no way in hell I'm getting out of this relationship alive. And what does he do? He just gets furious! As if I'm the one in love with a fucking animal! A bunny, no less! How cliched is that?

Of course, he doesn't pick up on any irony in it and I'm stuck there to pick up all the pieces. So I let him pay his own money to fall in love with his own bunny or whatever and stay pretty much out of the way. Of course, I sleep around a little, I'm a human fucking being, but nothing serious. He continues to see the bunny and I ensure that his texts aren't getting too freaky.

So here we are, back in July, just a day or two before the incident. At this point, I start to see Jackson really fade. I don't know what it is, it's just, well, something was different. So I figure it's about time I go and give that psychic a little visit.

And what do I walk into? A fucking orgy! An orgy! With my fucking husband right in the middle! What! The! Fuck!

So of course I'm fuming out the ears and getting ready to slice his penis right off then and there when this old naked lady gives me some much needed advice. She said, she said, well, she said that if I didn't like what my husband was doing, I should go fuck myself, cus he was happy, and isn't that what marriage is all about? And that really made me pause. I mean, really stop and think. I mean, maybe she was right. Maybe she is right? Isn't that our job, as human beings. To just, I don't know, make people happy, I guess. Isn't that why we're all here?

So I go home to cool off and chill and nap and all that, and what does my husband do? Comes home drunk! Fucking drunk! After what I just went through! That fucking bastard! So when the next day came around, yeah, I pounced. And yeah, I stabbed him in the back a few times. And yeah, I clawed out his eyes and chopped off his penis, all while he was still breathing. But he deserved it. He really did.

Don't you think?