There are a few things about myself that I would like you to confess to you all on this 1st day of April.
Let’s just cut to the chase…
1. I cannot tell a lie.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not Abe Lincoln or anything and it’s not for lack of trying. But when I attempt to stretch or distort or completely morph the truth, things happen to my body. Physical things. I convulse. I sweat. I tear up. My face turns red. I laugh nervously and then I cry. I cry. And then I might hit you. Or hit myself. Hard.
And then I tell the truth…the truth followed by a drawn out explanation about why I attempted the lie in the first place, trying to convince you that there is a good reason and then attempt to make up for it by offering the inflicted person, the lied upon, my last paycheck or my first born child.
And then I go home to cry some more and wallow in the guilt.
It’s not funny. Not funny at all.
Which brings me to number two.
2. I cannot tell a joke.
If you were dangling me by my big toe from a bridge over a river full of hungry, ravenous, man-eating alligators and all you were asking of me in order to save myself from an untimely and most certainly brutal and bloody death was to tell a slightly humorous joke, punch line last, I simply could not do it.
The punch line is the first thing out of my mouth and I am an alligator appetizer.
And then I am dead.
Oh, but if you are the jokester, I will tell ya I am hanging on to your every word–because…
3. I am gullible.
Yep, as gullible as they come. I mean I held on tight to the idea that indeed Santa Clause had to exist until I was close to twelve-years-old because I couldn’t imagine that someone would lie about something like that.
Anyway if you’re not convinced yet, I have another example:
I am the most dangerous person who could ever answer a phone call from a telemarketer having once been convinced that I actually did win a trip to Disney World in Florida, free and clear– all I had to do was provide my credit card information, social security number, father’s middle name, my last seventeen addresses, checking account number, the password to my email and the fingers off of my left hand.
Sure! Why not! I mean we’re talking a FREE trip! I never win ANYTHING!!!
I was halfway down the list of requirements for redeeming my prize before husband, cooking dinner in the next room, got wind of what was occurring and appeared out of nowhere to fling the phone out of my hand and flush it down the toilet
I could go on and on here about all of the things the kind people in my life have talked me into during the last 27 years of my life…like actually convincing me that wearing this outfit in a style show, in public, while in the brutal depths of HIGH SCHOOL, was not only a good idea, but a fashionable one…
but I think I have embarrassed myself enough here with the Santa Clause thing so I will move on to number 4, the culmination of all of my problems in the first place…
4. I do not pay attention. I. Do. Not. Pay. Attention.
It’s a constant battle husband and I have every day. He is meticulous in a guy kind of way, tucks in his shirts, keeps his wallet organized and most importantly always knows exactly where he last set something down.
Until I move it.
And don’t remember moving it. Or ever seeing it in the first place, let alone recalling that I put it in the freezer on my way to get the frozen peas.
That’s right, I am the woman who wakes up in the morning and pours coffee in her cereal bowl, has left the house (on more than one occasion) wearing two different shoes, has driven off from the gas pump dragging the hose with me for several miles down the road and constantly forgets to pull up my zipper. Constantly.
Yes these confessions might be news to those of you who have never met me in person. But for anyone who has had me as a dinner guest, a relative, a friend for life or, you know, just happened to meet me in a hallway, you are already aware of this list. Because my discombobulations and shortcomings are written all over this willy nilly woman with the big velcro-like hair, papers, receipts, three-day-old banana and small animals flying out of her purse on her way to something she’s late for…
With qualities like these you can imagine April Fools Day is not my favorite.
Not my favorite and down right dangerous.
Growing up my neighbors up the hill would relish in April Foolery. They would pull off simple, but genious pranks like putting salt in the sugar bowl, saran wrap on the toilet seat and coffee filters in the pancakes. They would concoct a story so believable that it convinced neighbors for miles that 1,000 blood thirsty wild pigs got loose in the badlands and the government was offering $500 a head.
Yes, their jokes and lies provide banter around the dinner table for years to come. April Fools Day geniuses is what they are.
But can you imagine what would happen if I attempted these types of shenanigans?
I can’t even think about the chaos that would ensue when I got up from my morning pee and forgot completely about the saran wrap I applied to the throne the night before.
I can just see the spit on the windshield after my first sip of salty-moring coffee while I wipe off my face, realizing I had just fallen victim to my own prank.
No, I don’t even attempt it. And for my own safety when the calendar reads April 1, I stay indoors, shut off the phones and take to the ritual of carefully examining everything I put into my mouth.
But it doesn’t even matter–I have already been duped. Yes, on this deliciously sunny, snow melty, blue sky, muddy, glorious day it turns out, despite my best attempts, I can’t avoid the biggest prankster of all…
The weather man…
Ohh, when the clock strikes midnight and this Godforsaken day is over, I’m comin’ for ya Cliff.
I’m comin’ for ya.
Stay safe out there pranksters. And watch out for that saran wrap…