240. Light bulb moment

After slamming the door shut and leaving Mr Big-Boss to reflect on his unacceptable behaviour I stormed right past the secretary’s opened door. I saw her waving at me, motioning me to come in but I ignored her. She must have seen the frown on my face and noticed the way I sunk my head into my two scarves (yes, I wear two scarves) and raised the collar of my winter coat. I stomped across the landing and stomped my way down the grand staircase with its carved wooden banister. The old boards were creaking delightfully under my feet. Maybe I could make one snap. Maybe they were fake ones just like the heavy padded door. Maybe the secretary had heard the shouting match and just wanted a good gossip. I reached the bottom of the stairs and the swinging doors (like in a Wild West saloon) and pushed hard with both hands, hands outstretched and BANG they delightfully smashed into the walls on each side. The noise echoed all the way up the stair case and I hoped that Mr Big-Boss and Mrs Not-So-Big-Boss up there behind the fake padded door heard this and winced, even better if the walls shook and the furniture trembled.

Then I was outside. The cold winter air cooled the anger on my face and I stopped frowning but it didn't cool the anger inside me. I kicked a branch lying across my path. It flew up in a flurry of mushy brown leaves. The cold rain was battering hard over my head and I matched my pace to it. In no time I was through to the over yard, down the few concrete steps and along the high wall, through the tall gates (which made a horrible rattling sound as they banged shut behind me) and I was free. FREE.

Still I kept the pace and marched rather than walked all the way to my house. Once at home I let go of the anger. I had a quick word with the dog about the situation, which he grasped right away. I hadn't defeated the traitors and the villains but I had put on a brave fight. I could rest now. I remembered my friend's advice about a stiff drink and poured myself a Cognac. Neat. The kick of it made my anger subside a little. I lit the fire. I made myself my favourite spaghetti with olive oil and garlic, sprinkled some Pecorino on it and sank in the chair by the fire. I ate and drank watching the crazy erratic dance of the orange flames in the grate. 

Ideas of petty revenge came through my head. Other ideas of voodoo dolls and old-fashioned polish on the wooden steps to make them slippery. I smiled to myself, sipping my powerful drink and picturing Big-Boss tumbling down the grand staircase, arms and legs flying off in all directions, him screeching in pain, and a final dull thud as he landed on the mat by the saloon doors. 

But this was nasty. And nasty could back fire. Karma and all that. 

I took an other sip.  

And it came to me in a flash. A light bulb moment. Yes, it definitely sounded like a good idea. Something to help sort the traitors from the faithful. 

I could learn it off the internet. One could learn anything from the Internet. This could be a very cool new hobby for me.