Confession time: I have had moments of vengeful rage in my life.
My low point: In London, years ago, I once distributed all of an ex-boyfriend’s bespoke designer suits to poorer South African friends.
Damn, that felt good.
When consulting The Coven, aka the BFFs, for alternative suggestions, (“How do we take this further, girls?”) someone suggested that we stick his number in London telephone boxes, in the time honoured style of prostitutes advertising for business …but I could not bring myself to stoop that low.
Someone else suggested we casually let it slip to his new Swedish actress/porn star/model/ estate agent/whatever, (and the rest of everyone we knew) that he was crawling with crabs.
But by that stage, I had recovered my good humour and judgment.
Mad and grief-stricken as I was I was still just sane enough to realise that one fairly foul outcome of this wickedness would be people assuming that he had got them from me.
Luckily for me (and him) these little darlings weren’t around at the time:
Should you need them.
It’s wrong to find them cute, but they are.