I put the groceries on the counter, taking a look at my pristine kitchen with awe. I organized every spice by name, every recipe in the recipe box by color, and I knew how to get a stain out of everything. I’m the perfect wife, the girl next door that all the upstanding adults told the boys they’d be lucky to marry one day. If I had to describe myself I’d say I’m every man’s dream come true. It’s a shame there’s not a man out there I could say comes even close to my dream standards. It’s unfortunate, I’ve prepared my whole life to take care of a thriving loving home yet every single time I settle down I stumble upon unfortunate prospects.

When I married, I didn’t marry for love but possibility. Jerry had untapped potential but lacked motivation. If you want my honest perspective, it feels like most people lack it. I always see someone weighed down with simple issues they could just carve away with a knife. Jerry, charmless and without motivation, chose to work as a door to door salesman selling tupperware. I used most of my connections with the other housewives to acquire him some customers but one day Jerry surprised me by taking initiative. He’d often stop by Mrs. Melville’s modest home to let her try out a delightful set but she’d never seem to agree to buy. Still, my Jerry stayed persistent. One night, he came home late, lipstick on his collar and a small squabble happened thereafter. They say one’s first kill is the messiest because it’s always rooted in passion of some kind and by golly it’s true! Luckily, I know the perfect combination on how to get blood out of carpets but disposing of the body, well, it’d take some creativity.

The next morning, I went over to Mrs. Melville’s home with a meaty pot roast with some mashed potatoes covered in a special carmine colored gravy. Probably, one of the best meals I ever made, and I felt such joy watching her chow it down. Her husband, Mr. Melville is a sad excuse for a man and since she likes to take a bite out of other people’s meals I thought I’d help her out. Months ago, I invited him here to look at my clogged drain and well, he’s the one who left that tempting wrench exposed in his toolbox. Could one blame me for bashing it against his head as he moved out from under the sink?

After I did that deed, I made a hefty ham with a leafy salad covered in crimson dressing. The next morning, I went straight to Mrs. Melville who gulped it down as she gossiped about Mrs. Davis’s husband gambling addiction. I’m an empathetic person and I felt deeply for Mrs. Davis' plight which is why that next week, I went to her house with meatloaf after her husband’s unexpected disappearance.

I shake my thoughts, moving over to my knives which are in desperate need of sharpening. I quickly sharpen them and make my way to the dining room where I set the paper on the table this morning. On the front page, there’s an article discussing an influx of disappearing husbands who leave not a trace behind. I don’t know why anyone would bother looking for them especially with how I’ve helped their wives solve all their problems, why I even make sure they always get a delicious meal and keep them so well fed.

The article talks about how the men are suspected to have been killed. How disappointing, because I’m not a killer. I like to think of myself as a fixer of homes besides I always put their bodies to good use. Why, Mr. Ellison’s thighs won me a first prize ribbon at last week’s fair. I place the newspaper down, upset but my eyes stray to the image of the reporter who wrote the article. His face is plump, a five o’ clock shadow surrounds his jaw and I can pair him so well with some spam. Maybe I’ll make him for dessert…I feel my fingers twitch in anticipation.

Yes, tonight I’m in the mood for something sweet.