Hey there, folks! Phoebe here, but you can call me Pippi — that’s what my Dad does. Let me introduce you to Pete: 55 years old, ruggedly handsome with a white beard, and hands like a roadmap of hard work. He’s your friendly neighborhood plumber and my superhero without the cape. Dad’s the kind of guy who treats every job like it’s his own home, redoing entire bathrooms if a single tile is off. But sometimes, his dedication is taken for granted.

“Exactly!” Dad exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “And get this — they had the nerve to tell me they were only gonna pay half of what they owed me. HALF!” My jaw dropped. “HALF?? After two weeks of busting your hump to get their dream bathroom done. No way! What did you do?”

Dad’s eyes glinted mischievously. “Well, I tried to reason with ’em at first. But they weren’t having any of it. Mr. Carlyle, he gets all puffed up and says, ‘Just finish the job and GET LOST, Pete. We’re not paying a penny more.’”

I could feel my blood boiling. “That’s not fair! You worked so hard!” Dad patted my hand. “Now, now, Pippi. Don’t you worry! Your old man had a trick up his sleeve.”

“What did you do?” I leaned in, eager to hear more. Dad’s grin widened. “Oh, I finished the job alright. But instead of using water for the grout…” “…I mixed it with sugar and honey,” Dad finished, his eyes twinkling with mischief. I blinked, trying to process what I’d just heard. “Sugar and honey? In the grout? But why?”

Dad leaned back, taking a long drag on his cigar. “Just you wait and see, Pippi. Just you wait and see.” He went on to explain how he’d packed up his tools, pocketed half the pay, and left with a smile, knowing full well what was coming next.

“But Dad,” I interrupted, “wouldn’t they notice something was off with the grout?” He shook his head, chuckling. “Nah, not right away. It looked just fine when it dried. But a few weeks later…”

I leaned in, hanging on his every word. “What happened a few weeks later?” Dad’s grin widened. “That’s when the real fun began.”

“Picture this,” Dad said, gesturing with his cigar. “The Pinchpennies are sitting pretty, thinking they’ve pulled a fast one on old Pete. Then one day, Mrs. Carlyle goes to take a shower, and what does she see?”

I shrugged, totally engrossed in the story. “Ants!” Dad exclaimed. “Dozens of ’em, marching along the grout lines like it’s their own personal highway!” I couldn’t help but laugh. “No way!”

“Oh, it gets better,” Dad continued. “Next day, it’s cockroaches. Then every creepy-crawly within spittin’ distance shows up for the party.” I shook my head in disbelief. “That’s crazy! But how do you know all this?”

Dad winked. “Remember Johnny? My old pal? He’s their next-door neighbor and has been keeping me updated.” “And the Carlyles?” I asked. “What did they do?”

Dad’s eyes sparkled with glee. “Oh, Pippi, they tried everything. Spent a fortune on pest control, but nothing worked. You wanna know the best part?”

I nodded eagerly. “They blamed the pest control sprays for ruining the grout! Can you believe it?” Dad burst into laughter.

As Dad’s laughter died down, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the Carlyles. “But Dad, don’t you think that was a bit… harsh?” Dad’s expression softened. “Pippi, you gotta understand. These people tried to cheat me out of my hard-earned money. Two weeks of backbreaking work, and they wanted to pay me half?”

I nodded slowly. “I get it, but still…” “Look,” Dad said, leaning forward. “In this line of work, your reputation is everything. If word got out that I let clients walk all over me, I’d be out of business faster than you can say ‘leaky faucet.’”

I had to admit, he had a point. “So what happened next?” Dad grinned. “Well, according to Johnny, they ended up redoing the whole bathroom about a year later.” My eyes widened. “Did that solve the problem?”

Dad shook his head, chuckling. “Nope. The sugar residue was still there, lurking beneath the surface. The bugs just kept on coming back.” “And the Carlyles?” I asked. “Did they ever figure it out?”

Dad’s eyes twinkled. “Not a clue. Last I heard, they were planning to redo the entire bathroom… again.” Dad sighed, his expression turning serious. “Pippi, let me tell you something. In all my years of plumbing, I’ve never done anything like this before. And I hope I never have to again. But these Carlyles, they weren’t just trying to cheat me. They were insulting my work, my pride.”

I nodded, understanding dawning. “They thought they could walk all over you.” “Exactly,” Dad said, pointing his cigar at me. “And in this business, word gets around. If I let them get away with it, who knows how many other folks might try the same thing?”

“I guess I see your point,” I admitted. “But still, bugs in the bathroom? That’s pretty gross, Dad.” He chuckled. “Well, I never said it was a pretty revenge. But it was effective.”

“So, what happened after that?” I asked, curious. “Did you ever hear from them again?” Dad shook his head. “Nope. But Johnny keeps me updated. You should hear some of the stories he’s told me.”

“Like what?” I leaned in, eager for more. Dad’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Well, there was this one time Mrs. Carlyle was hosting a fancy dinner party. Johnny said he could hear her screaming all the way from his house when she found a cockroach in the guest bathroom!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh man, that must’ve been embarrassing!” “You bet it was,” Dad chuckled. “And then there was the time Mr. Carlyle tried to fix the problem himself. Bought every bug spray in the store and went to town on that bathroom.”

“Did it work?” I asked, already guessing the answer. Dad shook his head, grinning. “Nope. Just made the whole house smell like a chemical factory for weeks. And the bugs? They came right back as soon as the smell faded.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Unbelievable. How long has this been going on?” “Oh, must be going on over a year now,” Dad said, puffing on his cigar. “Johnny says they’re at their wits’ end. Talking about selling the house and moving.”

I whistled low. “Wow, Dad. That’s some long-lasting revenge.” He nodded, a hint of remorse in his eyes. “Maybe it went on a bit longer than I intended. But you know what they say about karma.” “Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s a real… well, you know.”

We shared a hearty laugh at that. As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the patio, I sat back, processing everything Dad had told me. “You know, Dad,” I said slowly, “I gotta admit, that’s pretty genius. Diabolical, but genius.”

Dad nodded, a satisfied smile on his face. “Sometimes, Pippi, you gotta teach people a lesson they won’t forget.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, I bet the Carlyles won’t be trying to stiff anyone on their bill anytime soon.”

“You got that right,” Dad chuckled. “And every time Johnny gives me an update, I get a good laugh out of it.” We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the sky turn pink and orange.

“Hey, Dad?” I said finally. “Yeah, Pippi?” “Promise me one thing?” He raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?” I grinned. “If I ever need my bathroom redone, I’m paying you in full upfront.”

Dad burst out laughing, pulling me into a big bear hug. “That’s my girl!” As we sat there, laughing and watching the sunset, I couldn’t help but think about the Carlyles and their bug-infested bathroom. It was a reminder that sometimes, karma comes with six legs and a sweet tooth.