I love my birthday. It’s the one day a year I can wear something extra nice, eat an unreasonable amount of cake, and bask in the glow of people being legally required to be nice to me. Or at least, that’s how it should’ve been. But thanks to my sister-in-law, Lucinda, and her devil-spawn children, it turned into a battle of wills—and a test of my patience.

It all started with a simple backyard BBQ. I had the grill going, music playing, and an ice-cold drink in my hand when I spotted my niece and nephew whispering by the pool. They weren’t exactly criminal masterminds—the way they giggled and side-eyed my neighbor, Sandra, made their intentions obvious. Sandra, a sweet lady in her fifties who could out-swim Michael Phelps if necessary, was their first target. Just as they rushed toward her, she dodged at the last second with the agility of a ninja, leaving them to flail mid-air. Fortunately for them (and my patio furniture), they skidded to a stop just shy of a very wet disaster. Sandra, ever the good sport, just chuckled and went back to her drink. But Lucinda? She barely glanced up from her phone.

“Kids will be kids!” she sang, scrolling away.

Fast forward twenty minutes, and I caught them whispering again, their little heads pressed together like evil masterminds plotting world domination. Only this time, one of them was holding a phone, camera rolling. That’s when I realized—I was next.

I pretended not to notice. They inched closer, preparing for their ambush. And just as they launched forward, arms outstretched—I stepped aside.

SPLASH!

Two gasping, sputtering children resurfaced, looking like drowned rats. The crowd went silent for a beat before bursting into laughter. Even Sandra snorted into her margarita. But Lucinda? Oh no. She wasn’t worried about the kids.

She gasped, clutching her chest. “THEIR IPHONES!”

The kids, now looking equally horrified, patted at their pockets, pulling out what were once state-of-the-art smartphones but were now just expensive paperweights.

Lucinda turned to me, fire in her eyes. “You just stood there and let this happen!”

I shrugged, sipping my drink. “Maybe you should’ve watched your kids.”

Her face turned an impressive shade of red, but I wasn’t about to let her ruin my day. Instead of arguing, I handed the kids towels, helped them dry off, and tried to move on. I figured that was the end of it.

Oh, how naive I was.

The next morning, I woke up to a text message. A link to two brand-new iPhones, complete with the caption: You should’ve let them push you in. It’s not like you’d melt. So YOU OWE US FOR THESE.

I blinked at my screen. Surely, this was a joke. But no, the follow-up text confirmed otherwise:

Expecting payment by tonight. Xoxo

Xoxo? Like this was some kind of friendly invoice? I cackled and sent back a simple response: Lol. No.

Lucinda, never one to take “no” for an answer, decided to escalate. The next afternoon, she showed up at my house, arms crossed, voice raised to levels usually reserved for reality TV shows and lost luggage disputes.

“You are morally and financially responsible for their loss!” she declared, standing on my porch like some deranged lawyer from a courtroom drama.

I rubbed my temples. “Lucinda, they tried to push me into the pool. Shouldn’t they be paying me for emotional damages?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They’re just kids.”

At this point, the neighbors were starting to take notice. A few stepped outside, pretending to water plants or retrieve mail that probably didn’t exist. And then, out of nowhere, Sandra strolled up, holding her phone with a knowing smile.

Lucinda barely had time to acknowledge her before Sandra hit play.

On the screen was clear, indisputable evidence of my niece and nephew whispering, giggling, and launching their doomed attack. The video ended with their splashy downfall, perfectly framed. And, of course, Sandra’s chuckle in the background.

Lucinda’s face went from red to white in record time.

“Wow,” Sandra mused, her voice dripping with mock surprise. “It’s almost like they did it to themselves.”

The neighbors, sensing drama, leaned in closer.

“I think the legal term for this is ‘consequences of one’s own actions,’” I added helpfully.

Lucinda opened her mouth, closed it, then spun on her heel and stomped off without another word. I watched as she dragged her phone-less children back to their car, grumbling the whole way.

Sandra turned to me, grinning. “Happy birthday.”

And that’s how I got the best birthday gift ever—free entertainment, a stress test of my patience, and the knowledge that sometimes, karma works fast.

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