Guest Blogger! Robb-o

Introducing my husband Robb, for those of you that didn't read our annual Christmas letter that he writes. This is his Facebook status (plus several comments that it required) today.

I like practical jokes.

It doesn’t matter what kind of joke it is, as long as it isn’t on me. It can be as simple as telling a story to a gullible person or something truly elaborate.
This all started as the most elaborate practical joke I had every played. It topped April Fools day “spaghetti” in bed, broken chair in a co-workers office, bagpipes at 5am and even fake threatening letter mailed from a different town.
I was so proud of this idea. I had planned and organized for months. It was going to be so perfect. Nothing could go wrong. I had worked for months collecting the hair from brushing the dogs. With two golden retrievers it had added up to about half a garbage bag. A week ago I went on a road trip and collected the “toilet de-ordorizer” from the bathrooms at the local interstate rest stop. Don’t worry. I used gloves. Then yesterday, I stopped at three different stores and bought gorilla glue. The kind of glue that makes super glue look like your nerdy little brother. The reason for the three stores was to throw off suspicion. What could be more suspicious than buying three bottles of gorilla glue?

Armed with these supplies and my toolbox, I snuck out of the house and over to the object of my practical joke, shortly after midnight. Living in a small town is a big advantage. Most people do not stay up late and there is very little in the way of police patrols.

Why was this person the object of my practical joke? No real reason. He hadn’t done anything to me in particular. This was not in retaliation for any act or comment on his part. I simply thought of him when I thought of the joke. Sometimes that is all it takes.

Anyway, I snuck over to this person’s house. His lights were off. His car was in the driveway. The neighborhood was quiet. Everything was exactly as I expected. I laid out the supplies and got to work. Just when everything was going perfect, the plan began to unravel.

To make a long story short, I’m just glad I had studied so hard in my Irish step-dancing class. April Fools.