Write a Letter, Win a Custom Blog Header

Anti-Barbie is currently running a contest. All you have to do is write a letter to her fictional advice columnist and the one she likes best will win a custom blog header. Of course, I couldn't pass this one up, so here's my entry:

Dear Shabby,

I have an unusual problem and I hope you can help.

After work a few days ago I was driving to my home, way out in the country when I encountered a herd of cattle crossing the road. I waited patiently for what seemed like forever, then got out to see if I could somehow hurry them along. Unfortunately, I managed to spook the cows, who then stampeded over my car as if it were a speed bump. Of course, by the time they were cleared out, I found that the car wouldn’t start.

You would think I’d be asking about car repair, but I’m not.

I had left my cell phone at home on the charger, so I wandered up to the nearest house I could spot. It was quite a ways off and I had to climb over the broken fence the cows had come through to get there. So distressed was I by my situation, that I neglected to keep an eye out for cow droppings. My foot hit a big pile and I slipped and fell flat on my butt, covering my business suit in some of the finest fertilizer nature has ever made.

You would think I’d be asking about how to get manure out of dry cleaning, but I’m not.

When I managed to pick myself up and brush/wipe the biggest clumps off, I continued my journey across the field when I heard a commotion coming from the other side of the house. I broke into a run and made it around the corner just in time to see a couple of men beating up a defenseless farmer. I couldn’t just leave him to his fate, so I got the thugs’ attention and they immediately turned and came after me, saying something about “no witnesses.”

You would think I would be asking about self defense classes, but I’m not.

As I was defending the poor, helpless farmer by taking multiple kicks and punches all over my dung-covered body, I heard what sounded like gunshots coming from the house. Apparently that startled my attackers enough to convince them to flee. As my vision began fading out, I looked up to see the farmer’s wife standing over me with a shotgun in her hand and a concerned look on her face. “Now don’t you worry, I’ll get you all fixed up,” was the thing I heard before drifting into unconsciousness.

You would think I would be asking about how to repay someone for saving my life, but I’m not.

When I finally came to, I found myself tied to a chair in the middle of an otherwise empty barn with a gag in my mouth. The noise that had awakened me apparently was one of the barn doors opening, as soon the farmer’s wife came into view again. “What are you doing on my property?” she demanded. When I could only give her a confused grunt, she went on, “You’re that tramp my Fred’s been seeing behind my back, aren’t you? I don’t know about wherever you’re from, but we don’t tolerate sleeping with other women’s husbands around here missy.”

You would think I’d be asking about how to prove my innocence, but I’m not.

She removed the gag and I denied the charges against me vehemently, but she insisted that I would not be leaving this barn until her husband woke up. Seems he was still knocked out from his attack. “I’ll know as soon as he sees you, and you’d better hope you’re not lying to me,” she told me. She seemed like she wanted to believe me and for the next couple of days she treated me better than I had expected, cooking for me and tending to my scrapes and bruises, all the while giving me reports on Fred’s progress. On the second evening, she reported that he was looking well enough that she’d be bringing him to the barn in the morning. That morning, she helped him limp out to the barn and opened the door so he could see me. I must’ve looked a fright, and he certainly didn’t recognize me at all, so she took him back to the house and came and untied me.

You would think I’d be asking about how to press charges for kidnapping, but I’m not.

“Now I hope there won’t be any hard feelings,” she stammered as she let me go. I assured her that I wanted nothing more than to put this whole incident behind me, and asked if my car had been towed out of the road yet. She said she had seen a tow truck come a few hours after my attack, and she had written down the name and number of the towing company in case the car was mine. She took me into the house and let me get myself cleaned up as well as I could. Then she handed me a slip of paper and pointed me to the phone while she started to make breakfast.

You would think I’d be asking about how to get my car back, but I’m not.

A few hours and a plate of the best pancakes I had ever eaten later, I had finally gotten things straightened out with the towing company and the local police. In exchange for her paying for my car repairs (apparently it wasn’t totaled in the stampede) I was just telling everyone that I had been unconscious this whole time and she had nursed me back to health. I was ok with that. As I said, I just wanted to put it all behind me. While I was waiting for a friend to come drive me home, we got to chatting and I found out that she was actually my boss’ sister. The thugs who had beaten me so badly were collecting on an “unpaid insurance policy” that her brother had given her the money to cover. Unfortunately, she had been angry at her husband for his affair (she still doesn’t know who the girl is) so she had spent the money on herself with a day at the spa, figuring they’d just rough him up a bit and leave. She begged me not to tell her brother that she had misspent his money, and I agreed as I was feeling quite glad that this whole incident was almost over.

You would think I’d be asking about how to convince someone to seek help from the police when they really need it, but I’m not.

My question is, how do I explain to my boss the three days I missed of work and why I didn’t call, without letting my kidnapper’s secret out?

Bruised and Baffled in Yoder, KS