Dear Boss Warlock:
Help!
As a native Midwesterner, I know that it's wrong to buy rhubarb, but—in a moment of weakness—I actually did. From a store, no less.
Now my guilt over what I've done is crushing me. Please, what can I do to get clean of it?
Guilty in Galena
Dear Guilty:
I'm afraid there are some crimes that are beyond even Boss Warlock's power to forgive.
By your own admission, you bought—actually paid money for—rhubarb, knowing that what you were doing was wrong. The fact is, there's no way that you can get clean of a crime of such magnitude. Basically, Guilty, you're screwed.
(For the benefit of the non-Midwesterners among us, let me explain that Guilty—by his own admission—has violated one of the prime taboos of Midwestern culture. Every Midwesterner is born knowing that you never buy rhubarb. As a proper Midwesterner, you should have your own clump, growing out by the back door. Even if you can't grow your own—say you're a renter somewhere—you should be able to get your rhubarb from friends or relatives who, of course, have their own clumps growing out by the back door.)
No, Guilty, by violating this taboo, you have laid yourself open to the Curse. For the next twelve months, you will be buried in rhubarb. Once word gets out—and, believe me, I've already hacked into your account and let every single one of your contacts know—everyone within three degrees of separation will be giving you rhubarb. In fact, I've already over-nighted you some from my own garden. Expect it by tomorrow.
Here's your only hope, Guilty: get your butt over to somebody's house and get a plug from their rhubarb. (No, for gods' sakes, don't go to a lawn center and buy a plug! What are you, suicidal?!)
