Ok, you already know that I’m always up for a good joke. And if you have a spectacular prank in mind, then I am there!
Normally, the elaborate pranks are reserved for April Fool’s Day. And they are commonly played on my mom. I know, I could take it easy on the woman who nurtured me for nine…ok ten...closer to ten months and once I was born, I realize I have not been any easier on her.
My defense is that it is my job to keep her young.
See, Mom! I’m looking out for your best interests!
There were the severe stomach cramps that my mom thought I either had something severely wrong with me in the OB/GYN sense or that I had a burst appendix. When she told me she was going to take the rest of the day off to drive to Bloomington to be with her eldest child in her hour of need, I callously cried “April Fool’s!” but let her know that I was deeply touched that she’d go to those lengths for me.
I can occasionally act and one year, I called her crying and told her that I’d been on the counters to reach something (I’m vertically challenged) when I slipped and hit my arm against the counter. Oh, I also thought it was broken. She told me that she and Charlie would be there in a ten minutes.
“April Fool’s,” I told her.
I found out that Charlie ran a red light in his haste to rush my mother to the rescue.
My favorite was the Atlanta terrorist plot. She was driving my sibs and some of their friends from Florida over spring break. It was raining like God was flooding the earth again. And if the rain didn’t slow things down, the RVs of the Snow Birds that were returning to their summer nesting grounds brought traffic to a stand still.
In the end, the 13-hour trip took 20 hours.
I knew they were going slow, knew that they were all getting cabin (car?) fever.
I also knew they hadn’t gotten past Atlanta yet.
I called and told her that the FBI received intelligence about an attack, a car loaded with explosives heading for the airport, and all traffic coming into the city was undergoing a search.
She cussed and told Kevin to look at the trip-tick for a route around Atlanta.
I silently chuckled as I knew I had her eating out of the palm of my hand.
And right as I was to deliver my little coup de grace, the signal cut out.
Five minutes later, I had yet to get through to my family and tell them the joke. I began to panic. Finally, I heard ringing instead of the prissy Verizon woman's voice. Cautiously, I felt my mom out to see if they had made the turn off yet. When I found out they were still on the interstate heading for Atlanta, I breathed a sigh of relief and then reminded my mother of the date.
She was not amused.
I didn’t learn my lesson.
As evidenced by my 2009 April Fool’s compliments of the a beautiful acting job by the LB see “A Real April Fool or How I Always Terrorize My Mom” in April 2009.
But April Fool’s isn’t the only day I work. As long as the price (or target) is right, I’m all for pranks.
Enter Christmas Day. The HKs were at the Aunt Melody and Uncle Chris’s house playing monopoly (not very sportsmanlike too) and drinking margaritas when my father called me to tell us about the Underwear Bomber.
We stopped what we were doing (which was fine with me because my 8-year-old cousin TOTALLY screwed over the LB and me and we were paying fines like the IRS was accusing of us not paying 20 years of back taxes).
Once we got the details and determined everyone was okay, we started joking about all the terrorists and people and somehow an idea was born.
Now, before you can understand the idea, I have to lay out a few details.
We live in Indiana. I am a Colts fan. My mother is a Colts fan. So is my Uncle Danny (Chris and my mother’s brother) and my mother’s friend Charlie. My uncle Chris is a Steeler’s fan. Danny has two sons that are for the the Cowboys and the Bears. My brother and sister are Titans fans.
Now I’ve had my years of superstition watching the Yankees in the World Series and reluctantly deduced that it didn’t matter if I watched the game in a certain seat at a certain restaurant, wore a certain shirt or pair of underwear, did my hair a certain way, made my bed a certain way…if Lady Fate was against my men in pinstripes, she was against them.
Superstitions should only "work" for those competing. For instance, it was different when I was a gymnast and I found a comfortable superstition in the applesauce muffins (low fat) and lime Gatorade that I had to have available during the meet as well as the other little ridiculous superstitions I had that required me to chalk my grips prior to bars in a certain way, etc.
Anyway, getting back to superstitions…Charlie has a mummy at his house. This is a life-size mummy. It is even taller than me. He’s had this mummy for years. Last year, my cousins liked playing with The Mummy at my mom’s birthday party. This year, something compelled them to put a Colt’s poncho on The Mummy and to complete the outfit with a Colts cap. Prior to Halloween, The Mummy was kept upstairs and watched the games with them. After Halloween, The Mummy was put downstairs. When the Colts started to lose, my mom made Charlie get The Mummy from the basement.
Since then, The Mummy has remained upstairs and has watched every game…even when Charlie and my mom were not home. That’s right. My mom and Charlie turned on the TV for the The Mummy to “watch” the game.
Now, back to Christmas Day at the Aunt and Uncle’s.
Chris, author of Iron Tail and Santa Claw and all things that terrified me as a child, suddenly got the beautiful idea of kidnapping The Mummy.
The timing would be perfect. Mom and Charlie would be in Florida over New Year’s giving us a perfect opportunity to nab The Mummy.
He looked at me and said, “You have to keep your mouth shut and not tell anyone.”
I glared at him “Not tell anyone? Chris, I’m in on this too. I’m always up for a good prank even if it involves Colts.”
We talked more about the kidnapping and how it would be hilarious if the kidnappers took a picture with The Mummy, especially if the kidnappers were dressed as terrorists.
Screw a picture, we would post a ransom video.
With an idea, we left and waited for the mother to leave. Finally the day of reckoning came. Only, I began to think. I drive a small Saturn. Kevin drives a Jetta. A six-foot-tall mummy isn’t exactly going to fit. I made Kevin call his friends, and we found a driver in his friend Andrew which worked perfectly because we also decided that it would be hilarious to video tape us disguised as those terrorists searching the house for The Mummy.
We planned it out in the car. We would go into the house in our Titans jerseys, scarves wrapped around our heads and big aviator sunglasses on to conceal our identities and hoot and holler in “Arabic,” a language I learned from watching “Team America” that consisted of me saying “durka, durka dan.” I don’t know where the LB learned his Arabic though he was slightly more fluent than me.
Once we arrived at Charlie’s house, we had to find the key. We had been in contact with his son who told us where the key was hidden. The only problem was that the key was not where we were told. We then made some calls to Charlie’s daughter to be met with no answer. Luckily, his daughter worked at the mall and the mall wasn’t too far from his house. Minor detour, and the plan was back on.
We arrive at Charlie’s house again and do a look-through. The Mummy is right there in the kitchen/great room off of the garage. Then Kevin decides it would look great if he takes his shoulder and forces the door open (by leaving the door open, but looking closed). We walk through it with our cameraman and then it’s lights, camera, action!
The Mummy is ours! Who are we? The Brotherhood of the Titans. We even have our own email address and Facebook page, where we plan on posting the video of us nabbing The Mummy (we wanted YouTube, but are fully aware that some people have no sense of humor).
Leaving The Mummy in the garage, Kevin and Andrew go out the access door to lay down the seats in Andrew’s Cherokee. I move The Mummy close to the garage door, but when I place The Mummy on the ground, The Mummy falls over. I right him, then hit the garage door opener. The boys gather him and we leave.
Basking in the glow of our victory and amazing prank, we’re laughing in the car when the LB looks back and says “Where’s his hat?”
I look and there is no hat. The Mummy had a hat on and there is no hat. Not too worried about this, I tell him it’s probably in the garage, then call Charlie’s daughter to pick up the hat.
She said she’d try, but she was staying with her mom while Charlie was out of town. I didn’t see what the big deal was until a few mornings later when we learned that hat was signed by Peyton Manning…
TO BE CONTINUED!
No comments:
Post a Comment