I hate practical jokes. Always have, always will. I would just as soon stay in bed on April Fool’s Day as get up and run the risk of being the fool. It seems like practical jokes rely on making a fool out of someone, embarrassing someone, or scaring someone. If you like practical jokes, by all means indulge. I just find them to be one step up on the comedy ladder from slapstick. Practical jokes are the whoopee cushions of comedy.
That being said, I became a practical joker quite by accident a couple of days ago. While rummaging through an unpacked box, I found a metal sculpture I have had for many years. It has always had a place in my house but, on this move, it got left in a box of what-nots. I took it out, planning to find a place to put it later. Without thinking, I leaned it up in the bathroom window and put the box back under the sink. I went off to bed not giving it another thought until the next morning when I walked into the bathroom!
I screamed, “I hate practical jokes.” Practical jokes are cruel.” “Help me, help me!”
Then I remembered that I was the practical joker for once. It was my mouse in the fridge, my whoopee cushion, my snake in the toilet. I felt the power, the lure, the humor. I could have moved the hand from the window and that would have been the end of it but, Michael would be getting up in a couple of hours and needing to use the bathroom. Why waste a perfectly good scary hand in the window? So I left it. Let’s just say if Michael didn’t need to use the bathroom when he went through the door, he did when he looked up. Bwahahahahaha.
Kelly says
Now THAT is funny!
Mary says
Thanks Kelly! I may leave it there till Tuesday.