I was beyond exhausted—the kind of tired that makes you question if you’ve brushed your teeth or remembered to feed the dog.
Ever since the twins were born, my days had blurred into a never-ending cycle of diaper changes, feeding schedules, and sleepless nights. The last thing I needed was another problem to deal with. But when I stepped outside that morning, I found my car completely covered in eggs.
At first, I thought it was a random prank. Who wouldn’t? Halloween was around the corner, and maybe some kids had gotten a little too excited. I sighed, too tired to even be upset, and grabbed a sponge and bucket, ready to clean up the mess.
But just as I started scrubbing, my neighbor Brad came strutting over with that smug grin of his.
“That was me,” he said, almost proudly. “Your car was ruining the view of my Halloween decorations.”
I blinked at him, trying to process his words through the fog of exhaustion. My car? Ruining his view? His ridiculous display of plastic skeletons, fake cobwebs, and oversized pumpkins?
Furious, but too tired to even start an argument, I just nodded, biting back the urge to say something I might regret. I didn’t have the energy for a confrontation, but in that moment, I silently promised myself that I’d find a way to teach Brad a lesson.
He had no idea who he was messing with.
Don’t get me wrong, Lily and Lucas were my sweet little babies, but taking care of two newborns mostly by myself was incredibly hard. I hadn’t slept a full night in months. Halloween was coming, and the whole neighborhood was excited—except me.
I didn’t have the energy to decorate, let alone get into the festive spirit.
Then, there was Brad.
Brad took Halloween way too seriously. Every year, he turned his house into a huge haunted attraction with gravestones, skeletons, big jack-o’-lanterns, and more.
He loved the attention and would smile proudly whenever someone complimented his decorations.
The entire block loved it, but I was too exhausted to care about Brad’s haunted house.
One October morning, things started to fall apart.
I went outside, carrying Lily on one hip and holding Lucas in my arm, when I noticed something. My car was covered in eggs! The eggshells were stuck to the gooey mess, dripping down the windshield like some gross breakfast gone wrong.
“Are you serious?” I muttered, staring at the mess.
The night before, I had parked in front of Brad’s house. I didn’t have much choice since it was easier to park closer to my door with the twins’ stroller.
At first, I thought it was a prank. But when I saw egg splatters near Brad’s porch, I knew it had to be him.
Brad had done this.
Even though he didn’t own the street, Brad acted like he controlled the curb during Halloween.
Furious, I marched over to his house and knocked on the door, maybe harder than I should have, but I didn’t care anymore.
“What?” Brad opened the door with his usual smug expression, crossing his arms.
His house was already decorated. There were cobwebs, plastic skeletons, and a witch sitting on a chair. It was all too much.
I wasted no time. “Did you see who egged my car?”
Without blinking, Brad replied, “I did it. Your car was blocking the view of my decorations.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “You egged my car because it was parked in front of your house? You didn’t ask me to move it—you just trashed it?”
He shrugged like it was no big deal. “How can people see my display if your car is in the way?”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Are you serious?”
Brad nodded, still looking pleased with himself. “I’m the Halloween King. People come from all over to see my decorations. You’re always parked there. It’s inconsiderate and ruins the vibe.”
I was juggling two newborns, barely holding it together, and he was talking about ruining the vibe?
“Well, sorry if my life interferes with your spooky setup,” I snapped. “I’ve got newborn twins, Brad.”
“I know,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Maybe park somewhere else.”
“I park there because it’s easier with the babies and the stroller!”
Brad shrugged again. “Not my problem. You can park there after Halloween.”
I stood there, speechless, my anger boiling inside. But being so tired, I couldn’t even argue anymore.
“Fine,” I snapped, and stormed back inside, shaking with anger and disbelief.
As I washed the egg off my car, something clicked. Brad wasn’t just an annoying neighbor—he was a bully. And I had had enough. 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. He needed his haunted house to be the best. I didn’t have the energy for a fight, but revenge? That, I could handle.
The next day, I casually strolled over to Brad’s yard while he was adding more decorations.
“Hey, Brad,” I said, faking cheerfulness. “I’ve been thinking. It was inconsiderate of me to block your display. Have you thought about upgrading it?”
He looked suspicious. “Upgrade?”
“Yeah, with things like fog machines or ghost projectors. Your setup is great, but those would really impress people.”
His eyes lit up. I knew I had him.
I suggested brands I had researched—terrible machines with awful reviews. But he didn’t need to know that.
“You think so?” he asked, already planning his next move.
“Oh, definitely. You’d be the talk of the neighborhood.”
Satisfied, I walked away, waiting for Halloween.
When Halloween night came, Brad’s house looked like a scene from a horror movie. He had gone all out, as I expected.
Crowds gathered to admire his setup, and Brad was in the middle of it, enjoying the attention.
I watched from my porch, feeling like a villain in a movie. His display looked impressive—until it didn’t.
Right on cue, the fog machine sputtered and started spraying water like a garden hose. The crowd gasped, and kids laughed.
Brad rushed to fix it, but then his ghost projector malfunctioned. Instead of a spooky ghost, it showed a strange blob, making the kids laugh even more.
Then, one of his giant inflatables collapsed, rolling across the yard. Some teenagers, seeing the disaster, threw eggs at his house for fun.
Brad was frantic, running around trying to save his haunted house, but it was too late. His Halloween display had turned into a joke.
The next morning, just as I was feeding Lucas, there was a knock at the 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 for a bit. “Thanks for apologizing, Brad. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
He nodded quickly. “It won’t.”
As he turned to leave, I couldn’t help but add, “Funny how things work out, huh?”
Brad had no response.
Despite the danger: a woman with dwarfism boldly poses with her baby belly on the beach.
Most married couples get asked “when,” but Charli Worgan and her husband Cullen frequently received “why” questions.
The parents, who live in Sydney, are frequently in the spotlight due to their unique forms of dwarfism, most notably when Charli got pregnant with their first child.
After giving birth to their first child, the content Australian mother created a social media account to share updates on their family life with others. Little did she know how well-liked her account would become.
With two stunning daughters under their belt, Charli has amassed over 300,000 Instagram followers.
Charli recently revealed that she was fourteen weeks pregnant with her third child, but the announcement was bittersweet.
Charli has had to undergo thorough genetic testing during each pregnancy. Experts warn that if Charli and Cullen’s offspring inherit just one type of dwarfism, inherit both forms, or are of average height due to their genetic problems, the results might be fatal.
Charli expressed her disappointment at not being able to celebrate her pregnancy’s 12-week mark with her family, as most mothers do.
But at 12 weeks, I was preparing for a procedure called Chorionic Villus Sampling (CVS), which is similar to an amniocentesis, whereas most individuals are pleased to be able to announce their pregnancy. To check the embryo’s genetic composition, a big needle is placed into my abdomen to extract a sample of the placenta, which has a 2% miscarriage rate.
Their two daughters, Tilba, 4, and Tully, 2, each have one of the two varieties of dwarfism, so they waited to find out which of the four possible dwarfisms Charli’s third child would have.
In an Instagram post, Charli explained, saying, “Our child would be of ordinary height.”
Our child would have achondroplasia and be dwarfed similarly to me.
Our child would have geleophysic dysplasia, the same type of dwarfism that Cullen has.
As a result of inheriting both genetic defects, our child would be born with “double dominant dwarfism,” which is fatal according to every expert medical assessment. In the event that this had occurred, I could have decided to terminate the pregnancy or to go on and see how things turned out.
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