We were driving through a quaint Welsh village (Betws-y-Coed, since you asked), just getting ready to sling-shot free of civilization and head for the pass at Mount Snowdon, when my husband showed me an email.
We’d been waiting to receive our security deposit back from a short-term vacation rental. The email was from the “letting” agency informing us on a “without prejudice” basis that the owner had discovered blue crayon on a wall in the property and since he had been unsuccessful in removing the crayon, he was keeping the deposit in order to repaint the room.
Because you need to repaint an entire room when you are touching up some blue crayon.
I was blinded by anger. My face became hot, and my blood pressure soared as my stomach dropped. I raged against the injustice.
You see, my youngest boys – who, at 2 and 3 years old are the only ones who still consider colouring fun, and colouring walls exceedingly so – do not have any crayons, blue or otherwise.
Not only that, but my husband and I went over that cottage with a fine tooth comb before we left, cleaning it as if Jesus himself was going to be the next guest there. There was no blue crayon marks. Not one. Anywhere.
The guy was lying and it sent me into a mental tailspin. I was overwhelmed by fantasies of revenge. I mentally composed my negative review for Tripadvisor (take that!), drafted my arguments for small claims court, and imagined an internet
Campaign of Destruction whereby I’d buy up all the domain names with his company name in it and write negative blog posts (SEOd up to the gills) so that anyone searching for his cottages would find my bad reviews first.
He might be able to keep my money, but I’d damned well make him pay for it.