Misadventures of a Mischievous Bratt

                                                               Misadventures of a Mischievous Brat

         It all started on a glorious sunny day. I, an angelic 8yr old little girl, was spending the summer with my
father in San Diego. I had become friends with several of the other children in the neighborhood and played with
them daily. I became close friends with a little girl named Francesca. We spent many afternoons playing with our
barbies and the myriad of accessories associated with them. Little Francesca coveted one of my barbie's dresses,
a shimmering, sparkling, glittery confection of silver silk and lace. I was more than happy to let her dress her
barbie in the stunning ball gown, which she did often. It happened that early one afternoon, following one of
our routine play sessions, I was putting away my barbie clothes and noticed the ball gown missing. Frantically, I
searched high and low for it. Crawling under the 'black hole' that was located under my bed, clawing desperately
through the pile of clothes buried in my closet, and interrogating my dad about his knowledge of the missing
dress. After thoroughly ransacking the house, I concluded that my dear friend Francesca might have mistakingly
took it. I decided to pay Francesca a visit and walked down the block to her house.       
      After knocking lightly, the door was answered by her smiling mom. I inquired if Francesca was home. Her mom
said 'yes' and let me in. I politely followed her back to Francesca's bedroom. The door was open so her mother told
me to go on in. Upon entering the bedroom, Francesca looked up in surprise. She quickly pushed something behind
her and sat on it. I smiled serenely at her and asked if she had seen my barbie's silver ball gown. She shook her
head vehemently, indicating that she had not seen the dress. I meandered over to sit beside her. Francesca continued
to fidget nervously as I casually leaned back against her bed. I asked her what she was hiding, to which she
declared 'nothing'. I concluded that I would have to use strategic maneuvers to expose the evidence. I smiled at
her and acted like I was getting up to leave, wherein I 'accidentally' fell into her. The impact knocked her off
balance, exposing the item she had been sitting on. To my utter shock and horror, it turned out to be my barbie
dress. I angrily yanked it out from under her bottom and stormed out of the house. This was war. I couldn't
believe my close friend had stolen from me! I marched home and fumed in my room for at least an hour. Then I
started to concoct a plan in my devious mind. I went to sleep that night, comforted by fantasies of revenge.
         I got up early the next morning and asked my father if I could do chores to earn some allowance money.
He looked suspiciously at me; after all I had never shown an interest in doing chores before, but then he shrugged
and agreed. I quickly completed enough chores to earn approximately $3.00. I asked my dad if I could walk to the
store and buy some 'candy' with my recently earned money. He unwittingly agreed, aiding me in my demented scheme.
I walked to the store and purchased a bag of rubber balloons. Upon returning to the house, my dad asked where
the candy was. I shrugged and told him that I ate it on the way back from the store. Then I smiled and batted
my eyelashes at him and asked if he would take me and a friend boogie boarding at the beach. He agreed and I
squealed in delight as I gave him a big hug and kiss. I then called my friend Bruce to see if he could go with us.
My dad loaded me and my boogie board into the car and stopped down the road to pick up Bruce. He took us to a
nearby beach to swim and ride our boogie boards. While drifting over the rolling waves, I coerced  gullable Bruce
into aiding me in my criminal activity. I had learned to use my pouty lips and dimples better than the most skilled
con artist. Before leaving the beach, I took a plastic cup and filled it with sand fleas, little white insects living in the
sand that look like tiny crabs. My dad grudgingly allowed me to bring them home as 'pets'. Once we returned home, I dragged Bruce back to my room. We filled dozens of balloons with water, until we had a basket full of water balloons.
My father was watching TV and barely even glanced our way as we headed out the door with a basket full of water balloons and the cup of sand fleas.
      We tiptoed into Francesca's yard and positioned ourselves behind some bushes facing the front door. I silently
crept up to the door and sprinkled sand fleas on their welcome mat. Once the trap was set, I knocked on the door and dashed behind the bushes where Bruce waited with the missiles of destruction. When Francesca's Mother answered the door we hurled our water bombs at her, nailing her multiple times. She screamed and I believe cursed at us in her native tongue, I am not familiar  with that language so I can not confirm this. As she shook her fist angrily at us she stepped out onto the welcome  mat. She immediately glanced down to see what was squishing between her bare toes. Upon seeing
the crustacean looking creatures crawling on her mat and between her toes, she shrieked in terror and jumped back into
the house. Her screeching brought her husband running to her side to see what was happening. I guess the sight of his wife drenched from head to feet with scraps of rubber balloons in her hair and crab like creatures hanging on to her toes was a little upsetting because he turned about five shades of red and chased after us like a raging berserker. Bruce and I hightailed it out of there, bolting down the street faster than the speed of light. I, being a little more experienced at fleeing, was able to make it back to my house before Bruce.
          My dad was eating a bowl of popcorn when I came charging through the door. He was just about to scold me for barging in when he heard Bruce wailing desperately outside. He jumped up, sending popcorn flying in every direction, and ran outside where he found Francesca's father imprisoning poor Bruce by his shirt collar and threating to cut his fingers off. Bruce was sobbing loudly as he tried to escape the mad mans grasp. My dad had to rescue Bruce and promise Francesca's father that he would beat us senseless, which he never did. He sat us on the couch and had us relay the entire story to him. After hearing the full details of our escapade, I was astonished to find that instead of punishing us he actually busted out laughing until his eyes teared up. It is still one of his favorite stories he likes to tell of the many
misadventures of his mischievous brat.

                            Dedicated to my Father, for being patient enough to let me live to see adulthood!