A Big Move

One of these days, I'm going to move to Hawaii, I really am. I'll get myself a surfboard and a, what do you call it, a grass skirt. Oh, I can almost feel the sun on my back. I'll never have to see snow again! No more shovelling; no more winter tires. And no more achy joints from the cold. All day I'll lie on the beach getting bronzed and drinking exotic mixed drinks (Pina coladas, or Mai Tais, or tequila sunrises, or, hell, a martini would do. I'm not picky). I won't be hideously pasty pale anymore. And I'll do aerobics three times a week, get rid of this cellulite. The well-muscled local boys who just happen to be walking by will offer to rub baby oil into my skin. I'll banter wittily with them in fluent Hawaiian, which of course I'll quickly pick up. Will I move to Maui? Or perhaps, uh, that other Hawaiian island? Who cares, they're all tropical. Oh, mountains! Oh, beaches! I can see them now. Finally, I'll be able to say good-bye to the office! I'm so tired of these endless mind-numbing days. Good-bye to my jackass husband; good-bye to this house I never wanted. Aloha!

And this is not a fantasy. I've been dreaming of this for far too long - years, probably. This is what I want, and I am going to make this happen. I can do it. I know I can. But where do I start? What do I do? I suppose first, I'll have to get rid of these two little brats. I could strangle them, or drown them in the swimming pool, I suppose -

"Mama?"

"Yes, sweetheart."

"Why are you looking at me like that?"