Sunday, October 31, 2010

Mischief night

struck our house last night. 


Ding dong, my doorbell is ring at 10 last night. WG is passed out, doesn't even move. I start making my way down to the front door, looking to throw something on over my pj.


Ding dong, ding dong, knock, knock, knock.
I'm coming, I'm coming. Who is it? I asked with a little concern.
It's the New Brunswick Police, from the voice behind the door.


Now I'm even more concern and I hurry to open the front door. There he was Mr. Policeman and another person with a bucket.


He tells me that there were kids in the neighborhood egging the houses and cars. And our house was one of them. The young man with him was one of the kids they caught and he was here to clean up some of it. 


The young man wipes my screen door off and makes an utter mess. Then give me a half-ass apology with a smile on his face after the Mr. Policeman asked him to do it. And now there were off to other house to clean up.


Now this all came as quite a whirlwind and much confusion for me to absorb in the moments it happen. After they left, I had screen door with a soapy mess on it. It took 20 minutes to clean up. And I could figure out why it had such an aftershave smell. 


So I woke up this morning thinking I could use this morning to start baking early and testing more recipes. But I forgot to get eggs and I think I need more butter. 


So out the door I went at 10 to find out that I had a flat tire. I have no proof of who or what made the tire flat but I just find it an odd coincidence that the flat tire is where there is crap on my car from those outstanding young people from my neighborhood. And by the way, that stinky aftershave smell, is that awful men's bodywash. I have evidence as they threw the container down near my front door. Here's some picture some pictures of the evidence and my flat tire. 
Evidence #1

My flat tire
So instead of baking, I'm writing my story about mischief night and those outstanding young people in my neighborhood. And by the way, they suck. 



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