More Than a Kiss

Dry Run

Jordan, Edison and Irma were in their backyard making last minute preparations for their attack on Petronella at her vagina’s poetry reading. They had dubbed their revenge attack “Operation Meltdown.”

“Three hours, ladies,” Jordan said. “We have only have three hours to get this right.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Edison said. “We’ll be ready. Then her angry vagina will be a sorry vagina.”

Irma chimed in, “Petronella does not own corner market on angry vagina. My vagina can beat up her vagina any day.”

“That would make a great bumper sticker,” Jordan said. Her vagina was pretty angry, too. It was angry with Petronella for leading her astray, making her believe she was the only vagina in the world that mattered, and then cheating on her with a younger vagina. Jordan, owner of said vagina, was pretty steamed also. All the throwing things, all the stalking, all the destruction of property, not to mention the graffiti on the porch which took a whole can of paint thinner to remove, had made Jordan mad enough to extract a fitting revenge.

And what was more fitting than giving the Ice Queen a taste of her own medicine?

Edison made a last-minute final adjustment to her remote control car. “Ready?” she asked.

Jordan nodded. Irma licked her lips in anticipation.

They were surrounded by cardboard cutouts of Petronella that Irma had created. Irma had Photoshopped pictures of Petronella’s head and enlarged them so they would fit the cardboard cutouts. They’d placed these around the yard.

“You better be sure about this, Jordan. You could be starting a Hatfield and McCoy kind of thing,” Edison said, flipping the power switch on the car.

“You have icy shoes?” Irma taunted.

It took Edison a moment before she realized Irma meant ‘cold feet.’ “No, I’m not scared.”

“You lie. You are turkey. Gobble gobble gobble. You are big turkey,” Irma said. She pranced around the yard, gobbling and doing a weird turkey strut.

Jordan and Edison exchanged an amused look.

“You mean chicken. Cluck cluck cluck. And I am not chicken,” Edison said. “I’m just concerned that this will start World War Lesbo. I want to make sure we all know that.”

“This was your idea,” Jordan said. “You’re backing out now?”

“I’m not backing out,” Edison said.

“Edison is big plump chicken,” Irma said. She walked around the yard poking her neck out, flapping her arms up and down, and making clucking sounds.

“Stop that!” Edison said. “I’m not a plump chicken! I’m just making sure is all.”

Irma stopped the chicken dance and squinted one eye. “Edison is right. In Mother Russia we give person one chance to fess clean.”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “Do you think Petronella is really going to admit to everything?”

“Irma is master interrogator. Irma can make her talk. Here is best technique Irma learn from… never mind who, is not important. Irma hold rat by tail. Make it big, ugly, scary rat with pointy teeth. Rat is dead or alive, make no matter. Irma hold rat by tail and put in Petronella’s face. Petronella is tied to chair. She sees rat and is scared like little girl. Irma shake rat in face, like so.” She demonstrated with an imaginary rat in Edison’s face. “Irma then say, ‘Rat will eat your face if you do not confess.’ You shake rat more. Make rat seem angry and hungry, see? This work many times for Irma in past.”

After a long pause, Jordan said, “I like our idea better.”

“Me, too,” Edison said. “Though I will keep that in mind as a back-up plan.”

“Fine with me,” Irma said. “Irma have no rat anyway.”

“Good to know,” Edison said. “Okay, you guys ready for the dry run?”

“Rock and roll time,” Jordan said.

“Who let the dogs out,” Irma said, looking like a stern P.E. teacher.

“That makes absolutely no sense,” Jordan said.

“To you, maybe. To Irma it is eye of the tiger,” Irma said.

Edison donned her special glasses and grabbed the remote. Jordan and Irma took five steps back.

“It’s show time, folks!” Edison said.