...about my family. People sometimes wonder why I turned out the way I did, and I can only think to point them in the direction of my family. (They're fantastic, don't get me wrong. But come on, love doesn't mean someone isn't crazy.) I can only assume that some of my...finer? qualities are a direct result of my parents.
Apparently when I get involved in a prank of some kind, I get a little...overzealous. Let me direct your attention to The Spongebob Incident of '06.
(And possibly '07, since I'm not necessarily aware of the the location of Spongebob at the moment.)
Then we have the Great Fannypack War of '03-'06. (Which also, it needs to be pointed out, involved my mother. AND sister.)
The Time I Had Senior Portraits Taken was quite a battle, fought in 2005. ALSO MY MOTHER.
So you see, I have a bit of a track record. And those are just a couple particular favorites of mine. But right now I am dealing once again with my mother, who is turning out to be one of those evil geniuses that seem quite benign; the ones you don't worry about until it's too late. And because of this, I'm going to go ahead and blame her for whatever genetic mess caused all the above incidents to go on for...ok, maybe too long.
It started when my mother had put away all the holiday decorations, sometime in early January. Or rather, she handed them all to me so I could pack them away. I thought I had done a rather nice job, considering the amount of crap to be put away kind of exceeded the amount of space we had. I was triumphant as I finished. Until she noticed It. On our front porch, a wooden snowman, purchased in northern Michigan several summers ago at a craft fair. He'd have to be put away.
I put my foot down. There was absolutely no room left! I was not going to repack everything for a third time! No way.
"Alright, then," my mother said casually, "I can leave him outside a while longer, since it's still snowy. But you will have to deal with him later."
I dismissed her remarks.
On Monday morning, I woke up and noticed something unusual. HIM. Standing at the foot of my bed was my good friend The Porch Snowman. I cursed my mother and we spent a few days placing him in various parts of the house for each other.
But she had to make it personal. Arriving home the other night, I found THIS.
The stupid skanky-ass lawn ornament that has been on our front porch since mid-December, collecting rain, snow, dirt, and I don't even want to know what else. Tucked into my bed. Where I sleep. She even thought to blame my father when I saw it. With a straight face, she allowed me to eye my father suspiciously before deciding he was, in fact, as clueless as he seemed regarding the incident.
Well played, Mom. Well played indeed. But it is not over yet.