For some reason, all my life I have wanted to grow up to be one of those women who live in the scary house at the end of the street. A woman who is the catalyst for a host of neighborhood kids' myths and legends. A woman who, legend has it, eats children, has straw for hair, and may or may not be missing an eye. Kids would triple dog dare each other to come up and knock on my door. After which I would pull the child inside, feed him or her sweets and let him or her play video games all day, with the solemn promise that once they leave my abode, they keep the myth of my evil alive.
Of course, being able to be such a woman is a bit harder when you get married, and especially so when you have an amiable husband and not some old crank. Of course, he could get cranky as we get older, so there is hope yet.