Even Steven Operation

|we're trying to get revenge, not initiate an orgy|

"Spray paint?"

I look at the tumble of items in the shopping cart and manage to discern five red cans. 

"Check."

"Silly string?"

"Check. I put in three different colors," assures Maddie.

"Permanent marker?" asks Livvy, looking at her list closely. You'd think we were shopping for a five-course meal instead of a full-scale criminal job.

"I'll get it," says Ava, running to the next aisle.

"What about condoms?" I ask. The lady shopping next to us gives me a dirty look. 

"They're not for me," I hasten to explain.

"No shit, Sherlock," mumbles Livvy.

The lady marches away before I can clarify. I sigh. 

"Well, that's that. Now, where are the condoms?"

"I think we've got them," says Maddie, peering into the cart. 

"Okay, I've got the markers!" announces Ava, tipping them into the cart. "Do you think we should get some dildos? Oh, and maybe like a vibrator or something. And a Playboy!"

"Why?" I demand. "Ava, we're trying to get revenge, not initiate an orgy."

"I just think it'll be really funny when his mom turns up to clean his room and finds it bursting with sex toys," giggles Ava.

"I know I don't say this to you often," comments Livvy. "But you are a genius."

Ava looks pleased.

"Okay guys, be quick about it," warns Maddie, looking at her watch briefly. "The sooner we put this behind us, the less likely I'll be to piss my pants."

"Charming," comments Ava, quickly ruffling Maddie's hair before they go in search of the items.

By the time we're done, our cart looks like we're on our to way to shoot a porno with Pennywise.

Seriously. We've got an array of sex toys impressive enough to make Mia Khalifa swoon, colorful markers, toilet paper, silly string, balloons, and for some strange reason, a colorful wig.

At the last moment, Ava adds a carton of eggs to our growing cart of oddities. 

At our confused stare, she explains,

"Everybody knows no trashing is complete without egging. It's an American tradition, like getting botox after you turn fifty."

Okay, then.

To disguise our, erm, more suspicious purchases, I hurriedly add a few bags of chips and some tampons into our cart.

Hopefully, our very male cashier wouldn't give our other items a second look. Such is the one perk of having men awkwardly steer away from the topic of periods like they were gorillas having a threesome. 

"I hope you get him good," winks our cashier as he finishes bagging up our last item, a huge black trash bag that could double as a body bag (no wonder he gave us so many questioning looks). I cringe. 

Yikes. He's gay.

"Get who good?" I ask warily.

"Whoever the asshole boy is, love."

"Now you listen to me," threatens Ava, grabbing him by his pink bedazzled collar (seriously how did I not realize he was gay). "If you say one word-"