Poetic justice – Halloween style

It's true — what comes around goes around.

I know, it's a tired old cliché and I'm embarrassed for even using it (but it's Sunday morning, so I'm lucky to even spell propperrlee).

After Layne's first crack at trick or treating on Friday night, I took great pride in telling my parents — who were handing out candy at our place after babysitting Layne all day (talk about taking advantage of cheap labour, eh) — how my friends and I used to wreak havoc in downtown Ripley on Halloween night.

I spoke in great detail of our triumphs of luring squad cars into dark alleys only to have a gang of armed egg-throwers jump out of the shadows and pummel the cruiser into oblivion, before scattering to safety. "Ha ha," we all laughed, because they had never heard the stories.

But the laughing ended this morning, when I went to pick up my car, which had a sleepover at a friend's house after my year-end ball party last night. It seems fate or irony or some other word I don't feel like looking up in the dictionary, decided it was payback time, because my car was the recipient of two close-range egg attacks, one on the hood and one on the back window.

The shells were even still stuck to the mess, hardened by the overnight frost.

So, after $7 at the local car wash, and some humble pie, I've decided to never speak of my Halloween 'accomplishments' again.

Because I know, somewhere, a retired Kincardine OPP officer is smiling.

And I also know that I deserve it.

Comments

[Larry]

That's too funny Dwight and after us talking that eggs don't seem to be a prank of choice around here. Guess calling the police is pretty much out of the question on this one!!!