For any of you still in school, and under parental care, just cover your eyes now. This information will only lead you on a slippery slope of deception and mayhem.

Backstory: Over appetizers and wine with Warrior Woman, we were telling stories to one another about our younger days. WW interjected frequently about each topic being blog material, but when I told her this one, I ran and wrote it down. I knew I would use it.

I was always a good student. My marks and class participation were good, I enjoyed reading, and I had insight that allowed me to giggle at the naughty bits in some of Shakespeare’s plays. The principal, who also taught senior English, answered my giggles with a huge twinkle in his eye. We were the only two that got it. He also gave me a 100% mark on my senior essay exam, which I think was to discuss imagery and some other stuff in MacBeth.

My mildly amusing but OCD stepmother hated writing excuses to cover absences from school, so I devised a system that made it easier for her. I would write the body of the note, and have her read and sign it.

What she didn’t know was that I never submitted those excuses. Instead, I wrote in my own handwriting my note and forged her signature. Then, when I wanted to jig* school, I could word my own excuse and forge the signature so all submitted excuses looked similar. My handwriting in body of note, forged stepmother’s signature.

Genius.

My brother, Mr.Trick? Not so genius. Or maybe just lazy. He would only forge the note and signature when he was up to no good. I think his girlfriend had introduced him to pot, and maybe he didn’t think things through.

Eventually, the principal noticed the discrepancies in signatures on his notes. Because he only forged when he had to. Doofus. What did my formerly favourite brother do?

He ratted me out.

The principal examined all of my notes, which matched. He didn’t believe rat boy. I wasn’t even called to the office.

Rat boy was so mad that he couldn’t take me down with him. Ungrateful bugger. Serves him right for stealing my idea and executing it sloppily.

*jigging school was the vernacular for playing hookey.

I started to tell this story, then I looked for a suitable image, and while I was at it, might as well create a watermark, so the result is that nothing got done besides a lot of image re-arranging. You may get one poor quality, unwatermarked image, because who really wants to steal a small, poor quality image? On to the story.

Long ago, but not so far away, my brother, Mr. Trick, and I were allied as partners in crimes against the parents. These crimes involved a great deal of intrigue, planning, and stealth. Stealth was key because we wanted, in this case to steal the cookies out of the pantry.

We had to stay awake a long time until the giants (parents) went to bed, and we gave them time to fall asleep. This gave our anticipation of the stolen goods more salivation factor, and allowed us to refine the plan.

Hand signals were not terribly effective in the dark, so we had to revise the plan during the execution of the manoevre. Who says criminals are dumb?

It took an agonizing amount of time to descend the old, creaky staircase, and tiptoe down the hall to the pantry. We were shivering with excitement as we ear-whispered directions to one another.

Once we reached our objective, we loaded up our arms, and BOOM! thundered up the stairs (times two) in our haste to devour the prize. I guess we figured that possession was nine-tenths of the law, but we had forgotten how annoyed those pesky parents became when aroused from their sleep.

The punishment was not just for cookie theft, it was an angry punishment administered in the wrath of being awakened. It wasn’t pretty. We decided our career in crime was not our optimum life path. And it was difficult to sit down for a while too.

Seated on horse: little brother, witchypoo, partner in crime brother. This was taken when we were able to sit without pain.