Sometimes, the only way to teach a lesson is with a good ass-whuppin’
"One night, upon returning from an evening out with his friends, I disagreed with my ex-husband. Out loud. I can't tell you why exactly; I was almost seven months pregnant - nauseous - tired - cranky - hormonal. At any rate, I told him to shut the hell up and quit picking on me. And he punched me. Hard. In the belly. I honestly don't remember much after that; I know that I wrapped my car keys round my fist and beat the holy fuck out of him. The situation ended with me locked out in the parking lot and him in the lobby of our building, frantically trying to hold the door shut, blood pooling on the floor, his face and chest the consistency of ground round, screaming like a nine year-old girl."
—Swallowing Tacks. "He hid his abusive nature very wellŃunfortunately, I didn't see any evidence of it until the morning of our wedding. I remember standing in the basement of a church in Seabrook, NH, wearing my white dress, flowers in my hair and in my hands, trying not to cry and thinking how in heaven's name do I get out of this? I should have tossed the flowers in the bin and bolted. Unfortunately, I didn't; I went through with the wedding and spent the next 11 months and three weeks of my life suffering nothing but abuse from the man I married."'
