I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING, I REALLY DIDN'T...BUT I'M GOING TO...LATER

Today I was shopping with someone, I won't mention who. The sales girl came down our isle and removed a bunch of product from the shelf and took the items to a waiting customer.

The sales girl was darling. She was super thin, had on skinny jeans, and was beautiful. I looked at my shopping partner and said, "Wow!" (Women do this--check out other women. We probably do this more than men do. It's a compliment thing, it really is.)

My shopping partner nodded, and then she said, "I made a little tooter just before she came down this aisle. She thought it was you."

And that was when I knew I would like to smack my shopping partner. I didn't want the salesgirl to think I was both stinky and mean so I let it go. But one of these days...I tell you...I will get even, oh yes I will. I'm going to wait until she is totally unsuspecting and then...well, I can't tell you what I'll do. That would ruin the fun. And it's going to be fun.

KRAUT GETS EVEN--ONCE AGAIN--FOR THE HURTZ DONUT

Some time back I wrote about poor, donut-deprived Kraut being tricked by his mom, who I might add is a fine and funny jokster. Every child should have been lucky enough to have a mom like me. Kraut has "gotten even" with me what seems like hundreds of times. here is yet another instance of his diabolical revenge fine sense of humor.

I don't know the inner working of my first born son but I do know he is creative, smart and never, EVER lets a good idea go without follow through. I also don't know when he found the handy spool of wire or how long it took him to construct a fine looking EVIL, LARGE spider out of it. Nor do I know how he managed to be alone in my bedroom long enough to attach it to the ceiling above my side of the bed.

Perhaps he laid on the bed so he could pinpoint the exact spot my eyes would go to as I was lying down, after a long day of washing 86 items of clothing, folding and putting away all the clothing minus six socks that took a permanent vacation to outer space, all the while nagging the children to do their chores (that they had no intention of doing) until I nagged myself into a frazzle, making sure they practiced the piano, vacuumed the floor, cleaned up a fur ball from one of the interesting cats, thawed something for dinner, fixed dinner, said for the ten hundredth time "yes, you have to eat your vegetables," and "we don't need to have dessert every single night," cleaned up after dinner, made sure everyone had a bath or a shower and made sure everyone brushed their teeth, listened to everyone's prayers and finally said, "Thank goodness, one more day finished a normal day and was ready for some peaceful rest.

I later learned, from my patient, diabolical son, that I laid down under the wire spider many nights before finally looking up. But when I finally did look up I screamed. And then, as I was scrambling out of bed, dragging the sheets and blankets, and perhaps Phil, with me, all the while keeping one eye on the gigantic spider, I heard a familiar chuckle from the boy's room. It was Kraut. Then I looked up at the spider again and realized it was too evilly perfect to be a real spider. I stormed into Kraut's room, trailing sheets and blankets and perhaps Phil.

"What do you know about the spider on my ceiling?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"Nothing," the innocent-faced child said. "And it sure has taken you a long time to notice it."

Score: Mom 1 Kraut 212 and counting

PS Kraut's children should read this. Surely one of them will want to avenge their poor shell-shocked Grandma. And I happen to know they are a clever bunch. I'll bet there will be stories to tell soon. Thank you, kids.

SIX WORDS FOR THE FINE ART OF REVENGE

A punch, a whack, and laughter.

A PERSONAL HISTORY STORY--THE HERTZ DONUT: HOW TO TEACH YOUR CHILDREN THE FINE ART OF REVENGE

I had sent Kraut to the spooky basement in our Richfield house. He was trudging upstairs with the needed item for dinner when I got a brilliant idea. It was an old joke but I was pretty sure he hadn’t head it. He was the only one old enough to get the joke so I told The Brown Dot and Gilmore Girl, “Watch this.”

Kraut opened the ten-foot—or so it seemed—door and came into the kitchen trailing cobwebs—or so it seemed. The basement was a primitive place. The home was seventy years old then—it would be one hundred now and the basement seemed as old, and as spooky, as the tombs of Egypt.

“Hey,” I said. “How would you like a nice Hertz Donut?”

His eyes lit up. I could tell he thought it might have been a specialty pastry from Parson’s Bakery. He deserved a treat after going to the basement-of-dark-unmentionable-horrors.

“Uh huh,” he said, nodding and grinning.

I balled up my fist and punched him on the arm. “Hurt’s, don’t it? I said.”

The look on his little face! I regretted my actions immediately, The other kids thought it was hilarious and I encouraged him to laugh—after all, the advice my mother gave me most often was, “Learn to laugh at yourself, Lynne.” If I heard that once I heard it one thousand times. Thank you, Mother. I finally got the message.

Kraut did laugh. A little. And then he plotted his revenge. For years he plotted.

One day, when he was a teenager he came to me and said, “I’ll bet I can pull a hair out of your head and you won’t even feel it.”

No way. I have a tender head. I feel any little tug of a hair. Of course he planned his demonstration when everyone was in attendance: The Brown Dot, Gilmore Girl and there was a new audience member, Lord Bumhampton.

Kraut carefully picked out his favorite hair and just as he yanked he hit me on the other side of the head with his other hand. He was right. I didn’t feel the hair being pulled out. I may have seen stars.

“See?” he said. Of course I couldn’t hear him over the hysteria of the other three children and had to lip read. And then I couldn’t help it. I exploded with laughter.

He plotted for years and he was a success. We ought to keep this going, don’t you think? So, I’ve been plotting re-revenge for years, too. It’s almost time.

PS Twice, or maybe even three times I have taken a dozen of the best donuts I could find to Kraut as an apology. He looks at them with lowered eyelids. Can we say, "It's all right, Mom. It was a pretty good joke." After all, it's not brain surgery—which I may need someday from the whack on the side of the head. What sort of apology do you suppose I'll get?

I like "cream filled" and "lemon," Kraut.

PPS Kids, do you remember those "Alligators" from Parson's Bakery? They may have single-handedly been responsible for Gilmore Girl's romance with frosting.