I hope you get into some mischief tonight..
When I was a teenager, my friends and I had some kind of a “beef” (wow I just totally dated myself) with a girl from the “popular” crowd in the grade below us. I have no idea what “said beef” was, but I’ll go out on a limb here and assume it was over a boy.
Anyway, we decided that mischief night was the optimal opportunity to vandalize her brand new, pearly white car.
And boy did we. With two cartons of eggs! We strung toilet paper around the tires and wrote horrible insults on the door in red lipstick. Right there in her parents’ driveway. Four small, mischievous tricksters, all teacher’s pets at the top of their academic class, fulfilled an overwhelming desire to be bad.
We were fast as a flash, giggling, trembling, and egging each other on (pun intended) to get the job done as quickly and efficiently as possible. Once the mission felt complete, we jumped in our getaway car and sped off, Dr. Dre blasting from vibrating speakers, before her parents had a chance to see our masterpiece.
They didn’t notice until the next morning. And they were not happy campers. Apparently, egg yolks and lipstick can discolor and chip car paint in mere hours. (Well, that’s what her parents later claimed when demanding reimbursement for an extremely expensive car detail which Google has just proven to be untrue.)
Things I don’t know:
In what way we, four smart, friendly, happy little girls, justified this act.
How she and her parents found out it was us.
What our punishment was.
Things I do know:
The most damaging element of all went unresolved for 20+ years.
For over two decades I have felt bad about this. Every year on October 30th the memory pops up and I immediately cringe and shut it down.
Well, today, in honor of Mischief Night (which I believe is no longer in existence, mixed feelings) I forgave myself for being a stupid teenager giving into the lusty cravings that inevitably surface at this age. I did something silly because I wanted to know what it felt like. I never did anything like that again. Well. I think.
We do bad things and good things and the beauty is that we can learn from these things. Oftentimes, we can’t uncover the necessary lessons without first failing the test.
Still, despite the guilt, I oddly don’t regret it. It taught me a good lesson: if it doesn’t feel good, don’t do it. None of us felt good about it but, being kids, we did it anyway. At some point, we would have understood this vital life lesson and I’m grateful that it sunk in before we did something much worse.
Forgive me, Brooke, for the humiliation you and your family must have suffered when you walked out of your door that crisp Halloween morning in 2001. The consequences for me were far more dire than those imposed by your parents (who were obviously lying but that’s neither here nor there). It’s now 2023, and I’ve finally managed to extract the needed information from this incident and let it go.
Forgive me, Universe, for wasting two cartons of eggs that could have otherwise fed a large family an abundant serving of omelets and/or pancakes on a cozy Saturday in autumn. I feel bad about that.
If it doesn’t feel good, don’t do it. (PLEASE NOTE: This does notapply to exercise or healthy eating. Obviously sleeping late instead of working out ((I’m talking every single day, not on the weekends)) feels good in the moment but it does NOT feel good later so apply this mantra accordingly.)
I hope you get into some mischief tonight, just not the destructive kind.
With love,
Bethany
