When studying to learn a new language, there is nothing better than living in an area where the language is spoken.

What if the wife of the person who you were staying with was mistreating and abusing you while you were there for school?

That is the situation the language student in this story finds himself in, but at the end of his term, he finds a way to get some very messy revenge.

Check it out.

Nine Months of Misery and a Pregnant Goat

Okay, so this was a few years ago when I was in college.

I studied languages and it was required of me to spend an entire school year abroad either studying or working to get a feel for the language.

I decided to pick somewhere rural where nobody would speak English, wanting to immerse myself fully, and ended up being a farmhand in a tiny European village.

I lived in a little apartment next to the farmhouse and was supposed to live like part of the family – emphasis on supposed to.

Don’t get me wrong, the place was beautiful, the work was interesting (and a great workout) and my boss was a decent guy.

Someone always has to ruin it.

It would have been pretty fun were it not for my boss’s wife.

Hoo boy… where do we even begin with this ball of bitterness?

Bit of background: my boss’s wife — let’s call her Witch — was a city girl, one of those high-flying businesswomen who got to travel and work with foreign branches, manage major projects etc.

She was all high heels and designer bags and fancy brunches with her coworkers… and then she married a farmer and moved to the end of her country to be a housewife.

By the time I came to work on the farm Witch had two small children and had turned into the sourest, most unpleasant woman I had ever met.

I learned later that she treated a lot of employees, especially women, the way she treated me, but they were able to leave.

I wasn’t.

Witch treated me like dirt.

I was pretty much treated like a servant, made to clean her house and look after her children on top of long work days on the farm (she hated farm work and did nothing at all to help – this’ll be important later).

She’d scream and swear at me and call me every name she could think of whenever her husband wasn’t around to hear her, and sneer in silence when he was.

I was terrified of her and there wasn’t much I could do to fight back.

Not only did she control my room and board but also my pay, food supplies, and the chance of a good review at the end of the school year.

I needed good references from my employer for my uni to accept me on the final year course, and that witch knew it.

She could get away with anything.

Every time I’d try to talk to her husband or another farm hand she’d blame it on ‘cultural differences’ and then step up her game when they weren’t around.

I remember one week where her husband was away when I got sick with food poisoning and for the entire week she left me in my apartment alone, to the point where I ran out of food.

Honestly, you’d expect her to drag out the magic mirror and ask it who’s the fairest of them all with the way she behaved.

So this goes on for a full nine months and there’s next to nothing I can do about it.

I just figured I’d tough it out and go home, then I’d never need to see her again but then Witch’s husband went away again, and I got my chance for revenge.

It was literally my final day on the farm, the afternoon before I flew back home.

I had to pack and clean up my apartment, but she’d ordered me away from all that to fix a window in one of our guest houses.

She liked setting petty chores to overload me, then scream at me when it was impossible to finish them all.

So I’m hanging out the window two floors up when Witch comes stomping down the path in her high heels and some fancy jacket and starts yelling up at me in her language.

She says that I’m to go to the goat shed right away because one of the goats is giving birth, and her husband isn’t there to help.

Now, we’d lost two of the goats that winter so it was important that someone did it.

We couldn’t afford to lose another goat – or rather, they couldn’t afford to.

Ahh, freedom!

And that’s where the revenge came in: before he’d left, my boss had given me my final pay and written and signed a recommendation for my college course.

I could answer any way I wanted and she couldn’t do a thing.

No leverage left to hold over me.

So I smiled, all nice and polite, and yelled back down that I couldn’t possibly come and help.

I still had so much to do and she’d told me that this window needed fixing.

What if I left it unfinished and someone got hurt?

What if I couldn’t clean my apartment in time?

After all, she’d told me to make it spotless for her before I left. “I’m so sorry Witch, but it’s just not possible.”

I could already see her starting to panic, and she started trying to argue about other people who could take my place doing these jobs.

Her father-in-law (sixty years old with a back problem), her own mother (untrained; taking care of her kids for her), even the cleaning lady that came in once a week (lol what?).

I had legit reasons for all of them, until finally I said: “But can’t you do it, Witch? You’ve been living here for years, I bet you’ve done this loads of times! You’ll get it done no problem.”

Check-mate.

She couldn’t back down from that and the alternative was not doing it and risking another dead goat and an angry husband.

She didn’t have any leverage left over me and it’s not like she could drag me out of a second floor window, so off she went, the designated goat midwife.

It was twins.

She was there for three hours.

He should have taken a picture.

The last image I have of Witch before I left for good is of her standing in the goat pen surrounded by the neighbour’s kids and a couple of tourists.

She was still in her high heels and nice clothes holding this slimy, squirming baby goat out as far out in front of her as she could get it, covered in blood and placental fluid and this thick yellow mucus.

The look of disgust and horror on her face still gives me the warm fuzzies.

That must have been so funny to see, and so well-deserved.

Let’s take a look at what some of the people in the comments had to say.

She should have never moved out to the farm.

It worked out perfectly.

It must have felt so good.

It sounds like a messy job.

Poor goat.

I hope this lady is enjoying her farm life.

She’s probably not, though.

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