when i was little, i often would hide in the corner by my little sister's bedroom at bedtime and wait.
she'd come quietly padding up the stairs in her fuzzy pink pajamas with the attached slippers, carefully balancing a wee plastic cup of water in her tiny little three-year-old hands. i'd jump out at her in all of my ferocious fury and give a blood-curdling roar. she'd scream and start crying, the gasping for breath kind, and i'd laugh and laugh and mom would get mad at me and i'd say, "mo-om, we're just having fun..."
because when i was eight, i didn't know the difference between i'm having fun and we're having fun.
i also thought that Jesus died on the cross in calgary.
the point is not that.
the point is that there is justice, and that now i am a grown adult who gingerly opens doors and carefully makes my way around corners for the fear that someone will be waiting there to try and scare me.
today, craig was one such someone, which was too bad for the cheesecake i happened to be carrying at the time [which arc-ed through the air and made a nice, cheesecakey splotch on my arm and the carpet as it landed].
the moral of the story is: you can't have your cake and eat it too if you're a klutz.