Isn’t it interesting when it sometimes hits you how normal and utterly fabulous your friends are? I realize that may sound a trifle odd, but bear with me a moment or two and you’ll soon see what I mean.

A couple of weeks ago, our Little Hot Tamale came for a visit, and it’s just like a member of the family living some distance away comes to stay. You pick up where you left off and keep on going, with no thought to P’s and Q’s or of having to polish the silver as “company’s coming” – not that I have any silver, mind you, but thankfully I wouldn’t have had to bring it to a gleaming shine.

And then this last weekend a very dear friend from Australia came to see us on her roundabout way from Sydney to Lubbock via Kansas City (as you do). Again the feeling was completely relaxed and happy, with seemingly no time at all between her last visit some five years ago, and now. Sooz is a bright light in our lives, and it was just a joyous weekend.

In both cases a little wine, lots of conversation, good food, and a tad of low-level, black-belt shopping, and everything is, as one might say in the '60s, peace, love and beads.

And then, on the other side of the coin, you read about a woman so poisonous that you wonder what it would be like for her to pop over, and having stopped your shuddering at the very thought of it, you are then positively overcome with gratitude for the loveliness and normality of your mates.

Said poisonous woman is currently residing at the Governor’s pleasure in Utah, where she is serving time for solicitation. Oh, not of the "wear the tight spandex and hoof it around the street corner" type soliciting, but in soliciting a hitman.

Our 70-year old Utahan was obviously still somewhat miffed that her ex-husband had found peace and happiness with a new, non-toxic version of a wife. Not one to shake it off and move right along, our little charmer solicited a man who was handy-manning her condo to go and take out said ex-husband and wife for a hundred thousand, believing in the possibly misguided knowledge that she was the beneficiary of her ex’s very healthy life insurance policies.

The worker thought this was just slightly over the top, and so reported her to the police, and down came the ton of bricks upon her scheming head.

Not content with letting sleeping dogs lie, she then solicited a jail-mate to take out the no good rat bastard of a workman who done her wrong – and was again ratted out to the authorities.

Now she was really steamed, so tried again to get somebody to do away with a witness, and the prosecuting attorney from attempt number two.

Now that’s one peeved mama, let me tell you, one who I don’t think I’d like to join us for a drink and a laugh on the back deck this summer.

As the 17th century poet, William Congreve wrote: “Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned/Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned."

-- Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at