We woke up to our house having been toilet papered. Again. This is probably the 3rd time since the ill-fated, amateur event I shared with you. These times the perps have been more professional (at least in the front trees), if not prolific.
Once our van, Flo--which Taylor drives--was covered in mustard or fry sauce or something. That wasn't so cool. He loved that.
He loves the TP, too. (A bit of a stick-in-the-mud, that one.)
I must admit that when I woke up and opened the drapes to this glorious morning, my first two thoughts were:
1. Seriously? Not AGAIN!
2. What's the good of having a dog if she won't even tell us when something like this is happening?
And so, to all of you boys--and especially to their parents--circa 1985-1988, please accept my sincere apologies.
- I hope you understand, in spite of your frustration, that it was done in the spirit of love.
- I'm sorry you had to clean up your yard. And the neighbors' yards. And the street. At all times of the year.
- I'm sorry that you had flags of tp in the tops of your trees for weeks at a time.
On the other hand, how can you not laugh at this?
*sigh* If only we'd had colorful window paint when I was a teen.
