Advice from a small town girl

I'm a little cranky today.

I've never read the Divine Comedy, the epic poem written by Dante Aligieri.

Having seen paintings inspired by the first section, usually called Dante's Inferno, I've never really wanted to.

That hasn't stopped me from imagining Hell as I would have designed it. Never mind the seven deadly sins.

I would have a place in Hell reserved for people who abuse those weaker than themselves, whether that be spouses, children, or animals. This would, I imagine, be a pretty big section, and would have to be subdivided into several categories.

Because I believe the punishment should fit the crime.

People who have kept animals confined for years in discomfort shall be locked in small cages with little food or water and nowhere to relieve themselves. Those who have dumped pets for out into the country shall be hauled off into the wilderness to see how they fare.

People who have broken the bones of children shall have their bones broken as well.

People who have shaken babies shall be shaken.

Anyone who beats anything shall be beaten. Continually.

Sounds pretty Old-Testament-y, doesn't it?

I'm not done yet.

I also have a section planned for people who spit on the sidewalk, where they will be required to walk through stupum for all eternity.

And people who spit gum on the sidewalk (especially right outside businesses) shall forever have their feet sticking to the floor. Everyone who has ever stuck gum on the underside of a table will have their fingers stuck in it for infinity.

Same goes for people who allow their dogs to do their business on the sidewalk and then don't clean it up. Can you imagine having to smell like that forever and ever?

Gosh.

Or course, even though I've never ever ( and I mean that) stuck my gum where it didn't belong, I have stuck my nose there. Wait a minute, that doesn't sound so good. I trust you know what I mean.

There must be a section for the busy bodies.

And one for the gossips, where truths or untruths are perpetually told about them, growing ever larger and crueler.

There will be a circle for the procrastinators, where their task will remain forever unfinished while those around them complete theirs.

And for the unkind, especially those who realize they are, a section where others will continually offer tiny insults disguised as help, or just "in your best interest."

For those who deny their imperfections and therefor their humanity, there will be a chorus of middle-aged women eager to offer up doses of reality. Imagine a Greek chorus consisting of mother clones.

As for me, I will probably finally lose some weight because I'll be running from circle to circle in a continuous round of just desserts. And I don't mean pie and ice cream.