The Joy of Hex

For Valentine’s Day, those clever Brits at London Dungeon–a truly gruesome house of horrors–have cooked up a special promotion called ”Hex your Ex.”

From a CNN article: To qualify, visitors must bring a picture of their ex — or anyone who has shunned them — then rip it up and throw it in a smoking cauldron. Visitors can then select from a range of curses to inflict on their ex.

“If you happen to be single or freshly shunned, this is a way to move on and have a great way of doing it,” Edwards said.

The “curses” are meant to be taken lightly, she said. All were developed by the Dungeon’s creative team.

“They involve marvelously bad things happening to your ex,” she said. “Nothing deadly, obviously. It’s obviously tongue-in-cheek.”

Yeah, sure it is.  How many people secretly hope for a hexing miracle when they toss that photo in the cauldron?  I’m gonna guess more than a few.

But I think a good hexing–while cathartic–is probably unnecessary.  Shakespeare wrote: “and thus the whirligig of Time brings in his revenge,” a marvelous line about the inevitable bitchiness of karma.  If your ex did you wrong, the whirligig will take care of him.  I offer up my own examples: after the breakup from hell, my ex proceeded to lose his job, get Lyme disease, and have to sell off his home thanks to the epic fail of his subprime mortgage.  Another got married and divorced in less than a year after our breakup, promptly gained 50 pounds, and–in a random and spectacular crap e-mail–blamed me for the mess his life had become, even though he was the one who dumped me.

I confess, gentle readers, that I did not feel as bad about these unfortunate twists of fate as I should have.  I may have even gloated the tiniest little bit.  But would I have intentionally hexed these guys?  No.  If I ever love a man, I maintain a soft spot somewhere in my cold harpy heart that prevents me from actively wishing evil on him.

It’s also been my observation that most people are themselves their own worst punishment.  Milton’s Satan said “Which way I fly is Hell, myself am Hell”, that is, we all carry the seeds of our own misery and destruction.  It’s usually better–and less messy–just to sit back and watch them take root in the people we hate.   (Although–lest you think I’m a complete softie–I have repeatedly wished death on, among others, Osama bin Laden, Dick Cheney, Robert Mugabe, and Jerry Falwell.  Thus far, only Jerry has taken the hint.)

So what do you think?  Anyone want to pop over to the Dungeon for a hexing?  Or would you prefer to let karma be a bitch on your behalf?

*Full disclosure: On my one trip to the London Dungeon–at age 10–I got so freaked out that my mom and dad had to half-drag, half-carry me out because I refused to open my eyes.  It may have been a bit of a parenting fail for them to take me there at all, but I don’t think they realized how graphic and scary it was. 23 years later, I still shudder a little every time I walk by the place, which happens at least once a year.