Not so, says I, on my Bad Days. Revenge is a dish best served on huge big mother-fucking platters, piled up, heaped over, spilling down the sides. In fact, bring it in truck-loads, why doncha?
When I was a kid, I saw a movie about a girl who was bullied and then somehow she had amazing plastic surgery that made her gorgeously unrecognisable.
She went back to school (because, of course, why would you not?) and began exacting revenge on those who had tormented her.
The only bit I remember with any clarity was when she tricked the Bitchy Cheerleader into cheerleading herself out of a window and splatting into not-so-pretty-any-MORE-are-we bits on the pavement below.
I wanted to be that girl SO BAD.
(not the cheerleader, obviously)
Sadly, I had no money for plastic surgery and Avon didn't seem to help as much as I had hoped.
So I laboured on instead.
I got older, and older, and older, and along the way I developed a life that I am mostly pretty happy with. More often than not, I know that the best revenge is a life lived well.
Fabio and I remind ourselves of this often. There are Forces of Darkness in the world who would rejoice at seeing us fail, would throw parties and light fireworks if our marriage fell over or our business collapsed.
But they will not Triumph.
By living with integrity, by truly being One even as we are two, by raising our kids to do better and be better than us, we will win.
That kind of revenge is sweet, indeed.