FORKING

Krispie Kreme had opened its doors in the OC. Everyone loved them. Especially the Rodericks. We would make donut runs at least once a week. Half the fun was jumping in the car at any hour and just driving over for a family road trip. Sometimes, however, there was reason for our madness.

The kids loved to go forking when they were younger. Forking was our answer to toilet papering. I like to be green when I can, so we fork. Sticking forks in the front yards of friends so that when they clean up they can keep our forks, thus forking someone else at a later date. Seems pretty green to me. Use those plastic forks again and again.

So we had selected our target family and were off to Krispie Kreme to pick up several dozen donuts, because, being Roderick's, we also have a plan for those as well.

The kids are ready, donning their black sweats. They also have the proper amount of black on their faces so will not easily be detected at the designated home. They are completely stealth. The family sits in their living room unaware of the havoc being wreaked on their personal property. After the deed has concluded, a dozen Krispie Kreme donuts are left on the front porch. Carefully the doorbell is rung and the hoodlums scatter quickly to the escape vehicle. Mission complete.

The next evening the girls are going to bed and talking about the adventures of the previous night. They are very proud of the fact that the family didn't suspect Roderick involvement. No phone call confirms this in their minds.

Morning comes to quickly. As we walk down the stairs there is something very strange. Yes, there are forks in our front yard. We have been hit. We run outside to survey the damage and collect the forks for our next assignment. We glance at the front door and there on the porch is a box of Krispie Kremes . . . an empty box.

We will execute our revenge some day.