I was beyond exhausted—the kind of tired that makes you wonder if you even brushed your teeth or fed the dog. Ever since the twins were born, my days had become a blur of diaper changes, feedings, and sleepless nights. The last thing I needed was another problem to handle. But when I stepped outside that morning, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing: my car was completely covered in eggs.

Initially, I assumed it was a Halloween prank. After all, the holiday was around the corner, and maybe some kids got a little too excited. I sighed, too drained to be angry, and reached for a sponge and bucket to clean up the mess. But then, just as I started scrubbing, my neighbor Brad strolled over, looking quite pleased with himself.

“That was me,” he declared. “Your car was blocking the view of my Halloween decorations.”

I stared at him, trying to process what he’d just said. My car? Ruining his view? The view of those plastic skeletons, fake cobwebs, and giant pumpkins? I was furious but too tired to argue. I just nodded, silently promising myself that I’d find a way to teach Brad a lesson.

He had no idea who he was dealing with.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love my babies, Lily and Lucas, but caring for two newborns mostly on my own was no easy task. Halloween was fast approaching, and the whole neighborhood seemed thrilled about it—everyone except me. I didn’t have the energy for decorations, let alone festive enthusiasm.

Then, of course, there was Brad. Every Halloween, Brad transformed his house into a haunted attraction, complete with gravestones, skeletons, oversized jack-o’-lanterns, and more. He loved the attention and the compliments, basking in his self-proclaimed title as the “Halloween King.” The entire neighborhood loved his display, but I was too worn out to care.

One October morning, though, everything changed.

I stepped outside, balancing Lily on one hip and holding Lucas, only to see my car covered in eggs—yolk dripping down the windshield like some disastrous breakfast gone wrong. “Are you serious?” I muttered, stunned by the mess.

The night before, I had parked in front of Brad’s house. I didn’t have much choice; it was closer to my door, and handling the twins and a stroller was already challenging enough. At first, I thought the eggs were a prank, but the splatters near Brad’s porch made it clear: he was behind this.

Furious, I marched over to his door and knocked hard. Brad opened it, arms crossed, with a smug expression. His house was fully decked out with cobwebs, skeletons, and even a witch. It was over-the-top, as usual.

“Did you see who egged my car?” I asked, cutting straight to the point.

Without blinking, he replied, “I did it. Your car was blocking the view of my decorations.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You egged my car instead of just asking me to move it?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “How can people see my display if your car’s in the way?”

I was beyond disbelief. Here I was, juggling two newborns, and he was talking about his “vibe.” My patience snapped. “I have newborn twins, Brad,” I said. “I park there because it’s easier with the babies.”

“Not my problem,” he replied. “Maybe park somewhere else until Halloween’s over.”

I stormed back to my house, anger boiling inside. As I washed the egg off my car, a plan began to form. Brad wasn’t just an irritating neighbor—he was a bully. And if he wanted to play dirty, fine. I could play smarter.

Later that night, while rocking Lily to sleep, an idea hit me. Brad’s weakness was his pride in his Halloween display. I didn’t have the energy for a full-on confrontation, but a little harmless revenge? That, I could handle.

The next day, I walked over to Brad’s yard while he was adding even more decorations. “Hey, Brad,” I said, faking cheerfulness. “I was thinking, it was inconsiderate of me to block your display. Have you thought about upgrading it?”

He looked intrigued. “Upgrade?”

“Yeah, maybe with fog machines or ghost projectors. Your setup is good, but those would really impress people.” I recommended a few brands I’d researched—terrible ones, notorious for malfunctioning.

He looked excited. “You think so?”

“Oh, definitely. You’d be the talk of the neighborhood.”

Satisfied, I returned home, waiting for Halloween night.

On Halloween, Brad’s house looked like a horror movie set, with fog machines, projectors, and inflatables. A crowd gathered, admiring his display as Brad enjoyed the attention. I watched from my porch, feeling like a villain in a movie. Everything looked impressive—until it didn’t.

Right on cue, the fog machine sputtered and started spraying water. The crowd gasped, and kids burst into laughter. Brad rushed to fix it, but then his ghost projector malfunctioned, projecting a strange blob instead of a ghost. One of his inflatables deflated, rolling across his yard. Some teenagers, seeing the chaos, even threw eggs at his house for fun.

The next morning, as I was feeding Lucas, there was a knock at my door. Brad stood there, looking defeated. “I, uh, wanted to apologize,” he mumbled. “I overreacted.”

I crossed my arms, waiting. “Yeah, you did.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t realize how hard it must be with the twins. I’m sorry.”

I let him squirm a bit before saying, “Thanks for apologizing, Brad. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

He nodded. “It won’t.”

As he turned to leave, I couldn’t resist adding, “Funny how things work out, huh?”

Brad had no response.