If you’ve hurt him—if you’ve harmed so much as a single hair on his back. Then mark my words: you will get what’s coming to you. Because whatever pain you savages inflict on my husband, I will repay tenfold. That is a promise.

If you’ve made him jog in any way. So help me, if you’ve made him exert himself when he’s made it abundantly clear that it’s too cold out for exercise…

If you’ve starved him—if you’ve robbed him of his nightly slices of American cheese, which he shovels down in spite of his debilitating lactose intolerance. If you’ve denied him his bowl of cookies and cream during prime time…

You haven’t you’ve weaned him off Dads, have you? Christ almighty, if you have weaned my darling husband off Dads

Is he still showering for 20 minutes every morning, you monsters? Tell me he’s showering for at least a quarter of an hour! Not warm showers, but scalding-hot showers that compromise the hot water for the next three showers!

Have you sickos read to him? Have you done that psychological warfare thing where they blast heavy metal music for hours on end, but with audiobooks? Have you taught him how to swing dance? Lord have mercy, if you’ve exposed even a hint of classical and modern jazz to the father of my children!

If you’ve force-fed him organic foods, paired meals with assorted wine flights, even gotten him to identify which wines play best off which dishes, make no mistake, I will rain terror down on you so hard!

Has he spoken to you? Do you twisted bastards have ways of making him talk? If you’ve gotten him to reveal what’s been bothering him at work—and if he so much as whispers why he’s become such a chronically morose grouch between the hours of 6 and 10 pm…

If you’ve lanced that weird mole on his shoulder, so help me god. If you have restrained him and drowned his hideous toenail fungus in over-the-counter topical medicine that anyone with $5 can pick up at a pharmacy, then rest assured, you will get your just desserts. Make peace with whatever higher power you hold dear, because my retribution will be more severe than you can possibly imagine.

To prove just how serious I am, I’m including an extra $5,000 in this week’s ransom. But only if you can get him crocheting! And not that rose doily bullshit. I’m talking pro swatches, slipstitches, and granny squares, you sick sons of bitches!

Thanks again, guys. Seriously, you have no idea how much I appreciate this.

Oh and give me back my husband—at some point in the next month, or so!