Alex has become quite adept at sneaking up and scaring the tar out of me. He's so good, that I don't always react with the jovial response that his little joke was meant to evoke. The adrenaline reaction causes my arms to shoot up, like Frankenstein trying to snap his stiff arms into a Karate fighting stance, and I toss whatever I'm holding at the time into the next county.
Last fall, I found a wasp's "comb" inside the cover of one of our outdoor power outlets. I had never seen one close up before, and wasn't even sure what it was. The comb looked vacant, so I picked it up and brought it in the house to show Chuck.
Alex has become quite adept at sneaking up and scaring the tar out of me. He's so good, that I don't always react with the jovial response that his little joke was meant to evoke. The adrenaline reaction causes my arms to shoot up, like Frankenstein trying to snap his stiff arms into a Karate fighting stance, and I toss whatever I'm holding at the time into the next county.
Last fall, I found a wasp's "comb" inside the cover of one of our outdoor power outlets. I had never seen one close up before, and wasn't even sure what it was. The comb looked vacant, so I picked it up and brought it in the house to show Chuck.
"Chuck, have you seen one of these before?" I walk up behind him while he's sitting at his desk.
"What is it," he asks, turning his head to look as I thrust the comb into his face.
"Hey!" He wheels back on his chair. "That's a wasp's nest!" I didn't expect him to be afraid of it, so his reaction kicked in my "fight or flight" response.
"Aaaahhhh!" I scream, adrenaline kicking in, arms shooting straight up, blindly flinging the comb through the air where it smashed against the wall and fell to the floor.
We both stood very still for a moment, staring at the comb on the floor, waiting for an angry wasp to emerge from the nest. When nothing happened, we started to breathe again and then laugh hysterically at the spectacle we must have made.
My favorite practical joke, though, was an April Fool's joke that I played on my mom in Michigan several years back, while I was living in Dallas.
I called her on April 1; there's still a ton of snow on the ground in the U.P. on April 1, by the way.
"Hello?" She answers.
"Yes, hello. This is (so and so) from the Ishpeming Police Department. Is this Mrs. Russo?" (I’m good at disguising my voice; even Chuck falls for it.)
"Yes?" I sense the concern in her voice.
"Mrs. Russo, we've received several complaints from your neighbors of a naked man on the roof of your house."
"What?" Now, you'd think that at this point she'd immediately recognize it's a joke but, unfortunately there are a few local men of questionable mental capacity who, by virtue of their reputations, make something like this believable.
"That’s the complaint, Mrs. Russo. Is there a naked man on your roof?"
"Well, no! I mean, my husband's out there, but he wouldn't be on the roof!"
"Is he naked, ma'am?"
"Oh, heaven's no! He’s shoveling snow! Do you think I should go and look?"
"It might put the issue to rest."
"Do you think I'll need my glasses?"
"I guess that depends on what you’re hoping to see."
"Just a minute….”
Then I hear the screen door open and swing shut. A few seconds later I hear the screen door open and swing shut again.
"OK, who is this?" She's laughing now. Mrs. Russo has finally caught on that this is a practical JOKE and there's really not a naked man on her roof.
I still think that one of these years, on April 1, I’m going to hire a naked man to go and stand on her roof. Just for old time’s sake.