Pranks-r-us

My husband is a pranskter. He delights in catching people off-guard and getting the best of someone. He is the proud owner of an entire box of stink bombs, and he has them in both varieties. I bet you didn't even know they came in two different styles, did you? There are the little glass tubes full of rotten-egg scented liquid that you smash to bits, and there are the little silver bags that you squeeze and throw, then wait for the explosion of rotten-egg scented powder. They'll make your eyes water and your nose burn. Horrid, I tell you. Horrid.

I wish I didn't know so much about stink bombs. I also wish I didn't know so many ways to use them. My (least) personal favorite is the stuff-and-run method. To execute this method, you must wait patiently until someone enters the bathroom for a reason that will keep them occupied for a few minutes. You take the explosion kind of stinkbomb, hold it very close to the bottom of the door, squeeze it, stuff it under the door, and run like hell. The person on the toilet or in the shower won't have enough time to escape before it releases its cheerfully awful smell.

I've been a stuff-and-run victim before. It's not pleasant.

My husband likes to prank the guys he works with, too. He's been known to do things like greasing the doorknobs and filling their lockers with packing material. He unrolled an entire roll of those brown paper towels like you find in public restrooms once, and stuffed it in his friend's locker. Then he coated his friend's locker door handle in some sticky greasy stuff. This made sense to him because - and I kid you not - "by the time he got the door open, he really needed a paper towel."

Most recently, he pulled a really disgusting switcheroo with his shopmates. He found some bottles of orange juice under the seat in the van one day. They were unopened, but clearly fermented. He took them to work and put them in the fridge. Now honestly, it's beyond me why someone would not be able to tell that the OJ was a no-go before they opened the bottle. Where I come from, oranges do not produce chunky brown juice. It didn't stop one of the guys from opening one and taking a sip. I guess it's man-logic that produces thoughts like, "if it's cold, it's drinkable."

A few days ago, I was having a conversation with my husband. We were talking about his job, and some of the people he works with. He mentioned one of the guys that works in his shop, then got all excited and... well, almost giddy. I knew a prank story was forthcoming.

"I have the best idea for a prank to play on Wes."

Ok, not even a story, just an idea? This must be a good one. "Okay, honey. Lay it on me."

"Well, as soon as I can find enough golf balls...."

I have no idea what he said after "golf balls." I immediately thought of the
Mythbusters episode where they had thousands of ping-pong balls trying to raise a sunken ship with them. I could picture my husband with an entire room full of golf balls, wading through them like a kid in a ball pit. I should probably ask him what he had in mind, but honestly, I'm afraid to find out.

Last night I was sitting at the computer desk when I heard my husband and son outside. They were laughing, which is always a bad sign. I looked out the window and saw them down the block, stooped over looking at the sidewalk. I shrugged it off, but something kept nagging at me about the way they were both bent over the sidewalk. I heard the front door open, and I looked up. I guess they didn't expect me to be watching them, because they stopped in their tracks. I watched my son ease his right hand behind his back.

"What were you two doing outside?"

"Nothing."

"What's in your hand?"

"Nothing."

"Am I about to get mad at you guys?"

"No."

They broke a lot easier than I thought they would. It only took about three seconds of the evil eye before they cracked like eggs. They tried not to look at me, but they couldn't help talking to each other.

"Okay, so it's really funny, what we did. It's going to be hilarious to watch the kids down the road tomorrow trying to get them off the sidewalk. I hope this glue holds. Maybe we should go out and put some on the other side of the sidewalk. Do you think anyone saw us? It won't be funny if someone saw us. How much more change do you have? Let's go back out. Got any firecrackers?"

They glued quarters to the sidewalk. I'm dead serious. I had to confiscate the glue, because there's no telling what they would have done with it next.

I heard them whispering about buying a pack of chargers for a model rocket earlier. I heard the words "stink bomb" in the same conversation. I imagine sometime in the next week I'll be a witness to the smelliest rocket ever launched in the world.

I'm so lucky.

Zip ties to the rescue (again)

I broke my van. I didn't break it in the traditional smoke-and-flames kind of way. It still runs just fine, in fact. We're just missing a window. A big window.

I have a minivan, the kind with the big door that opens on the side. That door has a big window on it. Well, it used to have a big window on it. I was driving out to my mom's house last week with my kids, my sister, and my neice in tow. I stopped to get my mom's mail, and my son and neice jumped out of the car and started to run toward the house.

My mom lives in the middle of nowhere, so her mailbox is a hike from her house. I sorted the mail and turned onto her road. My son had stopped running, obviously wanting me to stop and pick him up. He stuck his thumb out like a serial-killing hitchhiker, and I slowed to a stop.

I have a sick, sick sense of humor, and so does my sister. Neither of us would have passed up the opportunity to carry out this classic prank. I waited for my son to approach the sliding door of the van. The instant his fingers reached out for the door handle, I drove forward.

We laughed. We laughed much harder than this lame prank actually warranted. He caught up with us and yelled through the open front window, "What was that for? Geez, Mom." He reached for the door again. I shot forward. Hahahahahahahahaha.

I was going to take mercy on him and let him in the next time, but right as he reached for the door handle, my sister looked at me and yelled, "GO!" Instinct made me do it. Unfortunately, my timing was slightly off. He had the whole door handle in his grasp when I hit the gas. I pulled away, and the door slid open. *thwack!* It slid so hard it hit the side of the van, and then... *crack* *thump*

"What the hell was that?" I was sure I had just run over my son, so I slammed on the brakes. The door slid shut with a bang. I glanced back over my right shoulder to locate my son. He was standing about ten feet behind the van, mouth agape, staring at the ground. It took a few seconds for me to register that something was amiss.

I slowly backed up, and it wasn't until my son leaned through the area where the window should have been that I realized what it was that didn't seem quite right. My entire window fell off. He looked at me with a stunned expression on his face, and said the only thing I would expect of one of my children. "That was not my fault."

I got out of the van, and walked around it to look at the road. Lying peacefully in the middle of the dusty dirt road was my window. How it didn't break into pieces is beyond me. I went from shock to anger in a heartbeat. I leveled my son with a glare. "You are SO grounded."

"Mom! It wasn't my fault! It fell off the door when you pulled away!"

"The door wouldn't have opened if you hadn't grabbed the handle!"

"I would have just gotten in the car if you'd have stopped!"

"Well, you would have already been in the car if you hadn't gotten out!"

He had nothing else. Somehow, I didn't really feel better for winning that one. "Just pick it up and get in the car."

We went on to my mom's house to find my neice standing on the front porch laughing hysterically. She replayed the entire thing for my mom, who laughed, too. I found no humor in it until I called my husband to tell him what I had done. As soon as he answered the phone, I started giggling. It wasn't that the broken window was funny, but I felt ridiculous trying to explain to my husband how it got that way. I couldn't even tell the story without laughing.

He didn't think it was funny. He will laugh hard enough to wake the dead over a fart, but the window falling off the van wasn't funny? Alright, maybe it wasn't really that humorous, but sometimes all you can do is laugh.

It turns out that it fell off because the little piece that opens up so you can vent the window broke off when the door slammed against the side of the van. Apparently, that piece also holds the window in place. We had to order it from the dealership, and haven't gotten it yet. It's been raining here every day, so I begged my husband to do something with it. He got out his bundle of zip-ties and reattached my window. Don't ask me how a zip tie can hold a window on, because I'm not sure I know, but it's working until the part comes in.

I'm sure if an automobile were capable of emotion, mine would hate me. It would pull a "Christine" on me and lock me inside and eat me. The sad part is, I probably deserve it.