He's got some hell of a nerve. When I play back that conversation – nah, it wasn't even a conversation, more like throwing things at each other – I just get so mad all over again. I came home, and had a glass of wine and then had another one while I took a calm, relaxing bath. And plotted every kind of revenge known to women. Men really don't have any imagination when it comes to revenge. But women? Hell, we invented revenge. And boy is he gonna be sorry he messed with me.
"Oh, no, sorry Dr. Venkman isn't here, Alison/Sharon/Trudy/whoever," and then I'll lower my voice to whisper because girls gotta stick together, "he's being treated at the VD clinic. The new one that opened up on St. Mark's Place. I'm not supposed to say anything but I just couldn't not let you know. Just promise me you won't say a word."
And that book of his. He calls it his little black book. It's his shrine to his penis, that's what it is. But the book's a lot bigger.
That was good for a couple minutes of giggling. Gotta admit I felt better after that one. What could I do to the book?
If it fell into the shredder he'd know it was me. Besides, he was too cheap to buy a good shredder. It'd take forever to shred all those pages in that little razor blade thing that sits over the trash can.
Slime would be good. It washes out of clothes but it gets paper all sticky and hard to read. But poor Slimer…Peter might actually trap Slimer like he always says he's gonna if Slimer ruined the paean to priapic Venkman glory.
And just where is Lorena Bobbit when you need her? Hmm. A few messages from an admirer named Lorena. I wonder if he'd figure it out? Probably not; he'd just figure it was another dumb female throwing herself at him. Like that actually happens. I've heard him on the phone trying to charm them. Sounds like he's the one doing the throwing.
My friend Karen said she'd dye his underwear pink, but he'd just steal the other guys' until someone got tired of it and bought him more.
Teresa said to put glue in the shampoo he uses but I don't know which one that is and what if one of the other guys used it first? It's no big secret that Peter's the laziest slob in the whole universe and the last one out of bed.
Ooh, ants or bugs in his bed. He hates bugs. If I didn't hate cockroaches so much, I might put a few in his desk. But then they'd spread and we'd have them in the firehouse and that would be totally disgusting.
I wonder if that ad for itching powder is legit?
There's the ex-lax in a box of chocolates of course. I could hide the box in his desk. He'd think he forgot about it and then snack when no one was looking.
Stephanie has that little Pekingese. I remember that time I dog sat the little shit, I mean the little dear, and I had to pick up dog poop in a little plastic bag so it didn't get all over the sidewalk. Maybe I could offer to dogsit again. Just a little poop in his boots, don't even need a lot. Ooh, that would be so good. Just before a morning bust when he's in a hurry to pull his boots on. And then smush!
Or maybe just put a little in his office, behind the bookcase so it smells really bad. Or smear a little on the underside of his desk so that when he pulls his chair in…
God, I sound as immature as he is. There is no way Janine Melnitz is going to sink to the depravity that is Peter Venkman.