War of the Fiskars



(A series of texts from one of my friends, who is dropping off his first-born at college.  Oh, and he and his wife hate each other.  A lot.)

Drew: “At the airport.  Apparently she bought him school supplies.  For college.  School supplies.”

Me: “Well, he’s going to need stuff, right?  Take it easy.”

Drew: “Meg, we checked seven bags.  SEVEN.  And she packed the school supplies in MY carry on.  I’ll give you three guesses what happened to the scissors.”

Me: “Oh shit…TSA?”

Drew: “Yes, TSA.  And they threatened ME, as if any of this was my doing.  Apparently, we’re also safer flying without the red Swingline stapler.”

Me: “Did you guys also get him the big box of crayons, because that built-in sharpener is going to get you strip searched.”

Drew: “You think you’re kidding, but this is going to happen.  I’m going to wind up in a federal prison over a math compass.”

Me: “She didn’t do it on purpose.”

Drew: “I’m not convinced.  But it WILL BE on purpose when we’re flying home, and I slip a pair of scissors in her carryon next to a giant tube of anal lube and a zucchini.”

Me: “She’s going to stab you in your sleep.”

Drew: “Worth it.”

4 thoughts on “War of the Fiskars

    • He’s really an eye-for-an-eye kinda guy. I also pointed out, via phone, that being that he’s with her…they might think she has it for him, which might be the only reason why, next Tuesday, one or both won’t be in jail for air crimes and/or spousal murder.

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