I went out this morning to head off to the hangar and found that Hissy (my car) had been egged during the night.
Since that crap will mess up your paint (and smell bad) I ran through an automated car wash (I was in a hurry) only to find that it didn’t do a very good job of getting all of the egg debris off. I ended up cleaning it off by hand in the end anyway.
While doing so, I was trying to maintain perspective. On the one hand, I was pissed and felt myself being ever so slightly slipping into “Old Coot GET OFF MY LAWN!” mode. On the other hand – it was a couple of eggs, probably tossed by a couple of teenagers who had just had their first stolen beer.
Trying to think back, I can’t remember ever egging anything or doing that kind of punk kid pranks. The six years of Catholic school no doubt had something to do with that, although it didn’t stop me from hitting Father Murphy’s car with a snowball at every opportunity.
(For reference, Father Murphy was NOT one of those hip, young, fun priests, if you know what I mean, so he would go a bit berserk when thus “attacked.” If you were caught, you would get marched home to your parents with him holding you by the scruff of your collar. Hopefully with thawing snowball running down the back of his neck and into his ear from a well-placed shot. Yes, I’m going to Hell. This is not news.)
I did tee-pee a couple of houses, but both times it was my Mom’s house and she had it coming. She was always the one who would tee-pee our house first. (Yes, I just went to “she started it!”)
I never put flaming bags of dog poop on people’s front porch.
I never rolled pumpkins. (The end of October in Vermont saw the streets and curbs running orange near the bottom of Main Street hill and Summer Street hill.)
I never put sugar in anyone’s gas tank, nor have I ever peed into a gas tank.
It’s hard not to think that being a victim of these egging attacks is not so much punishment for a misspent youth, but karma catching up to me for being boring.