© 2007, Stephenie Freeman
A kid came to my door the other day and asked for two eggs.
“Well, why do you need them?” I had to ask.
“I just need two eggs. Do you have any?” He seemed impatient as he asked.
“No,” I lied. “Fresh out.”
Why, you ask, would I lie to this kid about not having any eggs? The thing is, I just had a feeling. I didn’t wonder if his mother was at home trying to bake a cake or if he was hungry for breakfast. The boy was probably around ten-years-old, and all I suddenly had a vision of this kid chunking my expensive, organic, cage-free eggs at someone’s house. No way would I be an accomplice to such devious behavior.
Now, if he had asked for toilet paper that would have been totally different.
Do kids even get to go toilet papering anymore? Or have we parents become
so strict that we’ve cut out all forms of innocent teenage rebellion? I hope not. It would be a shame for kids today to miss out on all the fun—just as long as they don’t do it to my house.
It would only be fair if they did. It would be payback for all the homes I helped to decorate when I was young and stupid. Actually, it was my one run-in with the law.
All I remember is someone saying, “Let’s go TP’ing!” In high school, that’s all it took to turn a boring Friday night into something awesome! We would scrape our money together to buy enough two-ply to do the job, and if we were lucky, we’d have enough for a double-rolled twelve pack. When it comes to toilet paper, the more coverage the better—in every situation.
When my high school friends and I decided to do something, we went all out. Whenever we decided to vandalize someone’s house, we used a lot more than just toilet paper. We were creative, inventive vandals—the Martha Stewarts of toilet paper sabotage.
On this particular night, my high school boyfriend was our target. Armed with our weapons from the kitchen pantry, with giggled as we wrapped his Mercury Cougar with saran wrap, shoved plastic forks in his yard and tossed the Charmin into his parents’ oak trees. We were just about all done when the cop turned on his lights. During the plotting of our adventure, we hadn’t considered that my boyfriend’s home was on the corner of a busy street.
When his father answered the door, the cop standing behind us trying his best not to smile, made us tell him what we had done.
My boyfriend’s parents were the greatest, so when we went to the door I wasn’t too worried about what they would say. We just hated the fact that we had been caught.
“Well, just make sure they clean it up,” he told the cop not even attempting to hide his own smile.
The worst part was when my boyfriend and two of his best friends brought out lawn chairs and sat on the driveway to leisurely watch us unwrap the car, de-fork the yard, and pull the two-ply out of the trees the best we could. The funny thing was we almost had as much fun undoing our work as we did doing it.
It also helped that all the cute boys were in their boxer shorts.
One day in the not too distant future, I’ll look under the bathroom sink for a new roll of toilet paper only to find that there is none.
Will I be mad to find out that my boys took all of my best two-ply to go TP’-ing? No. I’ll just be disappointed that they didn’t ask me to go with them.