The Demise of Mr. Zucca

“So we’re in agreement then,” I said calmly, gazing over the rim of my coffee mug at my husband. “Today is the day we get rid of Mr. Zucca.”

“Yeah, I guess,” John mumbled distractedly as he read the sports section of the newspaper.

“So, when are you going to do it?” I asked, rising from my seat and clearing the breakfast dishes off the table.

“Sorry, can’t help you there. I’ll be at work all day. If I were you, I’d wait until Seth left for school; the less witnesses, the better.”

Did you honestly think he would do that kind of job for you? This has happened before; you’ve taken the heat, and he’s come out smelling like a rose, my inner voice nagged.

My anger fueled my cleaning efforts, and within minutes, the kitchen was cleaner than the kitchen on the Mr. Clean commercial.

Now to take care of Zucca. Ugh, just the mere thought of him made my stomach churn like a clothes washer. He had arrived with celebrity status fanfare the week of Halloween, and in my opinion, had long overstayed his welcome. He was trouble from the very beginning; he showed up at the most inopportune times, always getting in the way.

Every morning he sneered at me as I passed him in the hall. Well, after today it would all be over. My hands trembling in eager anticipation, I removed a sheathed butcher from the kitchen drawer, and put it in my wind suit pant’s pocket. Then, with all the care one gives to an elderly person, I took Zucca outside and sat him on the picnic table.

Quickly, I took the knife from my pocket, unsheathed it, pausing momentarily to admire the way the sunlight glinted off the steel blade. It's over for you, I thought as plunged the blade deep into Zucca A wave of grim satisfaction washed over me as I rocked the knife back and forth, embedding it deeper.

After the cuts were made, I reached in, and pulling out a handful of guts, threw them on the ground. I knew I should have put them in a trash bag, but who would want the festering stench in their garbage can. This way, I was giving back to the Earth.

I sliced Zucca into pieces, then carried him back into the house, where I dumped him into a galvanized pot, covered the pieces with water, and brought it all to a boil on top of the stove.

The way I see it, Zucca will taste wonderful in a pie this Thanksgiving.

Umm. . .you did know I was talking about an uncut pumpkin, didn’t you? A pumpkin with a painted on face?