My son is an imp. He is ten years old and I think all ten year olds can be ornery, but my son has always had an evil side to him, so his age doesn't really explain much. My son delights in scaring his mother. And it is starting to unnerve me. Every dark corner is a potential hiding place for my boy so he can leap out, grab at me while screaming "boogety, boogety!" I of course, don't let him down, and I leap high in the air clutching my chest, eyes popping from my skull as I scream back "Arrrrrrrrrrrrrggggg!" I am developing ticks. I jump at everything now, real or imaginary and it is becoming a pain. The other day I was watching TV and my cat walked behind my head. I screamed, reached back and grabbed him and whipped him over my shoulder, across the room, and into the wall. I then yelled at my son, while he sat grinning at me. Another time I had taken my kids out for Chinese food. I was absorbed in the menu when the lady walked up and said "He-ro" I screamed and chunked my menu. My boy laughed, and I kicked him under the table.

Even though my boy is full of evil impishness, I don't try to get even with him anymore. Once was enough for me, and I still have not lived it down. My kids were going to a sitter at this time, and my boy was about six years old. He was really catching on that to scare his mother would bring much delight and joy to his life here on this planet, and he took this revelation seriously. He had been torture to me and I had just about had enough.

At this time I worked for the Salem Hospital and got off after dark to pick up my kids. As I walked up to the door to get my children my boy leaped from the bushes and ran at me screaming "Rrroooaaaarrrr!" I took flight, spinning in the air with karate chops and kung foo fighting. "HOLY MOTHER FUDGE PACKER!!" I screamed. This delighted my boy. I was furious. So help me God I would get even.

I yelled for the kids to get the Sam hill in the car, and I signed them out. Now before I explain the next part, let me back up. That day at the hospital we had a potluck. The spread had been fantastic. There was Bean dip and salsa, homemade tamales, all sorts of meats and cheeses, vegetable salads, and my favorite-cabbage rolls. MMMMMMM cabbage rolls. I had eaten my fill and enjoyed it immensely, but the beans, broccoli, and cabbage was producing alarming results. An hour before I got off work my guts began to bubble and boil. By the time I left the hospital I was sky writing. Big time.

I leave the house and head down the walk. At the end of the walk, it opened into the driveway, with the garage door being slightly recessed. Then I heard him. My son!! That little shit was at it again. I heard shuffling against the garage door and knew, KNEW, he was hiding to scare me once again. It would not work this time. I was ready. I had ammo. All that delicious food was rumbling around in my bowels and I was gonna blast him. So help me God I would blow him through the door when I got up there. So I stepped off the walk, onto the driveway and whipped my ass in his general direction. I hiked my leg and screamed "take THAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!!" as I just let 'er rip. It was deafening, it was long, and it "weeeeeeed" itself up and down the octave scale. It was impressive. I was so proud. I whip around to face my boy and laugh at him, and there, terrified, plastered against the garage door, with a cigarette hanging loose in his slack jaw, was my baby-sitters boyfriend. I yelled "Oh my Goooooooooood" and ran for the van. My kids were inside the van and as I jumped in, my boy looks at me and says, "Mommy? Why did you fart on that man like that?" I just drove home in absolute horror. Horror!

So even now, as my son plots my next heart attack, I just can't quite bring myself to get revenge. The sting is just too fresh, even after 4 years.