Fool

I am not generally a big fan of faux holidays. Cinco di Mayo irritates me, and parade watching notwithstanding I actually kind of loathe St. Patrick's Day. It annoys me when people lay to claim a nationality they have no connection to whatsoever just so they can create traffic problems and drink a lot of beer. Just drop the stupid accent and stay home already; something tells me you have plenty of beer there. The worst though, by far, has always been April Fool's Day - that's just an excuse to do mean shit all day. I grew up positively dreading April 1st. About a week out I would constantly remind myself that it was just around the corner and that letting my guard down for one second would mean certain humiliation, or perhaps worse. I'm not sure how I developed such a phobia about AFD since I can't really remember falling prey to anyone or anything in particular until 5th grade. That was the year my mother tried to convince me that it would be AWESOME to pretend that I'd lost my voice, it would just be the funniest thing EVER if I went ALL DAY without saying a SINGLE WORD. I pointed out that since she'd be in on the plan then I could still talk to her, but she very solemnly insisted that I really needed to give it my all for anyone to be convinced, so that wouldn't work, not at all. No talking, period. I considered going for it before I remembered that she and my teacher were historically united in the meritless opinion that I was somehow less entertaining that I thought I was, so I blew her off. Never, though, did I forget the slight; the ridiculous insinuation that I should actually be quiet and cede the spotlight stayed with me like a herpe.

AFD hate changed for me when we had children. I guess it's kind of like when some people talk about how when they held their child in their arms for the first time and their hearts just opened and they knew the true meaning of love bullshit bullshit bullshit; for me, having children made me see just how effective they would be as instruments with which I would unleash chaos. I don't mean I would mess with them on AFD - I screw with them constantly, every day and for no reason - I was going to use them to torture others. Specifically, my mother.

After AD was born, JHP was traveling a good bit for work and I had a nice long maternity leave so I spent a good deal of time in Memphis. I figured out early that the best way to deal with babies is to have someone loving and capable to take care of them, and who's better at that shit than grandparents? Not me, I'll tell you that much. So it came to pass that we were in Memphis on AFD, and it was time for my revenge. I'd had a plan in mind for a while and concluded that I'd need an accomplice, so I enlisted the help of my sister (who shall be referred to from now on as Cslos - pronounced "Seeyauhs" because that's what AD calls her and it makes me happy to type such nonsense). She was only too happy to help. I'd also need the help of our large family Doberman, Rosie. Cslos, Mom and AD and I were all hanging out at the house that afternoon and I took AD to the guest room to stage a diaper change. Cslos watched the baby while I slinked away outside with a clean diaper and a big stick with one bounty in mind: Rosie poo. Rosie had been unusually discreet that day so all I could find was an old, weedy specimen roughly the size of a salad plate. Which I put it in the diaper and snuck back inside. Cslos in the meantime had stripped AD of her old diaper, so we slid the new nasty one underneath her, holding her legs up so as not to actually let the Rosie poo touch her little self. I put on my best new mom panicky voice and said "Moooooooom? Can you come here? Something's wrong with AD?"

                                                            the fall guy. Look at that maniac - she's guilty of something.

Mom wandered on back, confident that she'd have her rookie daughter taken to task in no time...then took one look at what was doing in AD's diaper and promptly went into a fugue state. She looked not unlike Jack Nicholson at the end of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest"; there may have been actual drooling. It was simply not possible to process the bovine grassy mess her tiny granddaughter had allegedly produced. She kept frantically blinking and leaning closer and closer in, as if getting a better look at it would somehow change things. Just as Mom's mere inches from the poo, a tiny bug flew out of the diaper into her face; Nurse Cslos Ratched and I both lost it to the point that I think I tinkled a little bit.

Once Mom had recovered and we'd made some stiff drinks - I'm empathetic like that - I called Dad to tell him what we'd done. As I was telling him the story I figured my phone had lost coverage because there was silence on the other end of the line, but after I heard a couple of faint gasps I realized he was laughing so hard that he wasn't making any noise.

                            the perp (note: not actually Rosie. As a technically innocent party her true identity is being shielded)

I think that was the day that my heart opened and I knew the true meaning of love for AFD. It's reason enough to have kids.