Talking about stuff you tried to pull over on your parents only to have it backfire and fail miserably on you.
I remember once when I was a kid and my parental units were still at work I was bouncing a basket ball on the kitchen floor. Something I KNOW not to do. Anyway I’m bouncing the damn ball around, I lose control of it, it bounces up on the counter and breaks my Moms favorite cookie jar.
Now, Mom loves this cookie jar because she hand made it herself.
The jar itself just so hapened to only break into three different peices. So what I was able to do is peice the jar back together just like new, the only problem was the “glue” so to speak that held this thing together was the lid when I put it back on the jar.
So the next day her timing couldn’t have been more perfect; I just so happened to be in the kitchen when she took the lid off the cookie jar. Needless to say when she took the thing off; the jar of course falls into a hundred peices (or so it seemed)
IMMEDIATELY she looks right over at me to which I’m doing my best Oscar wining performance complete with dumbfounded look on my face in all and as if that weren’t enough, I actually had the audacity to say “Whad’ ya do?..Mom?..”
I didn’t want to eat stewed tomatoes, so I waited until my parents were done and left the table (they did this when I was a kid - to watch Monday Night Football or stuff) and I wrapped the tomatoes in my napkin and stuff them halfway down the garbage bag.
Might’ve pulled it off, but I got over-zealous: I yelled “Mom, I’ll take out the garbage tonight!” Needless to say, Mom-Radar™ was on full-alert and I was totally busted. And of course, since I had wrapped the tomatoes in a napkin, they hadn’t touched anything in the garbage - so I had to eat them…
I smoked cigarettes in my bedroom near the open window. I was convinced my parents would never smell it. That was all shattered one day when my dad was driving me to school and all of a sudden, he says, “So when did you start smoking?”
Ugh. My Mom, bless her heart, is a horrible cook. Always has been, at this point probably always will be. And I hated eggplant with a purple passion. So one day I was left alone at the table to stare at the plate of cold eggplant until I decided to force it down. Instead I decided to throw it away. So I did. I was too dumb to realize that my mother would look into the just-barely-scrubbed-out trashcan and see the eggplant there. Of course she did, and she took the nasty eggplant out, washed it off, and forced me to eat it. blecch. I tell her she scarred me for life with that one.
I also made numerous efforts to create fake vomit on those days when I wanted to stay home from school for no good reason. Prompted by the memory of the day that I barfed all over the floor after having eaten hot dogs, for some strange reason my fake vomit always had a sliced up hot dog in it. I wonder why she never believed that I really puked. :rolleyes:
My parents (particularly my mom) were so gullible that I got away with nearly everything. But my favorite story is the one about my dad and uncle who tried to sneak into the movies by walking in backwards. They actually believed that no one would notice! I guess the usher grabbed my uncle and literally “kicked” him out the door. I think my dad was probably running at that time.
My son wrote the word “baby” on his wall in crayon and blamed it on my friend’s infant. The logic was certainly there!
Broken vase. Just like SHAKES, I broke a vase upstairs. Big old chinese style thing. Naturally, not wanting to cop the blame, I found the cat, rubbed her feet in the dirt outside and dabbed footprints on the windowsill, next to the carnage. Sorry Rumpie!
Broken window. I broke my Dad’s shed window playing football. Luckily, the place was a tip, so I found some golf clubs that were leaning against the wall inside the shed and positioned them against the broken window. Then I picked up all the glass and scattered it outside. I think I got my inspiration from an Enid Blyton mystery book!
Broken bumper. I was playing with my Dad’s car while he was in hospital once. I got it stuck in reverse and was a bit too heavy on the clutch - ending up crashing into a wall. I pushed the car away and rubbed all the dust off it, but the bumper was squashed flat against the car (one of the old metal bumpers). I cleared the debris away and held my breath! About a month later, my Dad came in swearing that someone had hit his car in a carpark in Bristol - he couldn’t see how else the damage had been done…
Thing is, I got away with all of these. However, I’ve always hated liver. When I was very young (about 4) I realised I could hide the liver inside the drop leaves of our dining table. I did this for a while, until one day we had visitors and the table was opened, revealing it’s gory remains…
When my daughter was barely 2, and learning to use the potty, we would reward her GREATLY with every successful potty trip. One day, she decided to get the reward without doing the work, so she dumped a bottle of pine-sol into the potty and proudly told us she’d gone potty like a big girl. We were all smiles and praise until we were hit with the unmistakeable pine odor eminating from the toilet. In the end, we were laughing too hard to be annoyed.
The kitchen table in my house was like what you’d find in a restaurant booth - a table with bench seats. The benches had storage beneath the seat cushions, and there was about a 2 inch gap between the end of the bench and the wall.
I hated vegetables (big surprise), and I could never get my dog to eat them either.
I would set up an empty plastic sandwich bag between my legs, and when no one was looking I’d slide the vegetables off the end of the plate and they’d drop into the bag. The bag would then get dropped between the bench and the wall, and I’d slip into the kitchen at night to retrieve the bag and toss it in the trash.
Too bad there were a few nights when I forgot. Mom slid the benches out to mop the floor one day, and she found a few bags of moldy carrots. I was busted.
One day, my brother and I decided to cut school (I was 12 or 13 at the time, he was 10 or 11). We were hanging around the house in the afternoon, and had completely forgotten about the housekeeper until we heard her coming up the sidewalk (she would come over just before we’d normally get home from school and stay with us until one or both parents got home from work). For some reason we decided that we could hide from her in the coat closet. The one with the vaccuum cleaner in it. That she used every day. :smack:
Of course she discovered us when she went to get the vaccuum (we nearly scared the crap out of her), and we gave her some story about school having let out early that day. She bought it, but alas our parents did not…
Once, when I was six, I decided to play “Tarzan” in the bathroom by attempting to hang from my hands on the towl rack… well, let’s just say that was my first introduction to dry wall.
When I was 10, my best friend and I decided to put our new-found knowledge of chemical reactions to use by making vinegar and baking soda “rocket bombs” - we’d combine the ingrediants in a plastic test tube, cork it, shake, then toss. (My father was a chemist. Test tubes were the most benign things I had common access to.)
Of course, we had the additional bright idea of tinting the vinegar with food coloring, first.
I don’t recall the whopper of a lie my friend and I concocted, but it had to have involved a truly extraordinary turn of events to explain the technicolor streaks all over the porch and halfway into the living room.
When I was about four or five years old, I cut block letters out of construction paper and glued them to the living room wall. I figured if I spelled out my sister’s name instead of my own I’d never get caught.
I must have been about the same age when I decided to lock my parents out of the house one night. (It was summertime and we’d all been out on the deck until I went back inside.) My mom walked around to the front door, rang the bell, and said in her best old lady voice “Hi ladybug, it’s Grandma. Let me in.” When Mom got back inside, I tried to convince her that my imaginary friend was the troublemaker.
When I was 6 (why do so many of these examples involve 6 year olds?), we were pluggin in some Christmas tree lights and blew a fuse (back when houses had fuses and not circuit breakers). Mom went downstairs to change it with instructions not to plug the lights in until she came back. I couldn’t wait and plugged in the lights. I still have vivid memories of the giant blue flame that came shooting out of the electric socket (why did it do that? I still don’t know).
Mom immediately knew something was wrong and came running back upstairs only to be assaulted with the smell of burned child. There I was, my eyebrows were singed off (they never did grow back correctly–to this day, I only have 1/2 my eyebrows), my hair was fried, and my right arm was burned. So I told my mother my brother did it. Like the smoke still coming off me wouldn’t give me away.
2 years later I had a teacher I hated. I refused to do homework for this nasty woman (looking back, she really wasn’t all that bad). Teacher called my parents and they sat me down and made me do my homework every night. A week later, the teacher called again saying I still wasn’t turning in homework. Dad made me sit down as he watched me do my homework then made sure I left the house with it. Yet another week passed and again the teacher called saying I wasn’t turning in homework. Dad then spied on me as I left the house. Seems I was tearing up the darn homework as soon as I was out the door. The concept that I was only getting myself in trouble didn’t occur to me. I just didn’t want to give that darn teacher my homework!
When my mother was a girl (I’m not sure how old) she wanted, for some reason, to carve something into the piano bench. But of course she didn’t want to get into trouble, so she carved her sister’s name. Said sister got a spanking and it took several hours for her to convince my grandparents that she really hadn’t done it. My mom then got a spanking as well, but she didn’t mind much, I guess she’d gotten so much amusement out of watching her sister get busted that it made up for it.
Needless to say, my mom is the younger of the two.
At about 4, I took the fingernail scissors and cut halfway across the slipcase for the fingernail file, just to watch it cut. I flatly denied to my parents.
I was an only child at the time. This resulted in a great disincentive program for lying. Ouch.
But I sort of got away with something once. My younger brother and I were supposed to be cleaning our room, but our version consisted mostly of alphetizing our baseball cards. My mom was up and down many times telling us to get with it, and had to make a final threat. We didn’t catch on.
Thinking quickly… I put baseball cards in the back pockets of my pants. I had to fake most of the reaction to the wooden spoon. My brother was too jealous to let this go, and tattled. I figured I’d gotten half a ing before, and now I’d get a full one, leaving me on the down side. But my mom was too afraid she’d laugh, and just let it go.
My mom tried something similiar as a child, only she hid her meat under the rim of her plate. Of course, my grandmother found it when she started clearing off the table and screamed for my mother (who was outside playing) to get back in the house.
I actually thought it was perfectly logical to fasten my seatbelt behind me, and argue that I didn’t have to be IN it, it WAS fastened.
My parent’s were kind of ahead of their time, even back in the 60s they always made sure we were seatbelted, and they nagged us about doing well in school so we could go to college.
Even though we were girls!! (it was pretty much still accepted back then that most girls would “just” get married).
