Tomorrow is April Fool's Day, 2010. Nearly fifty years ago on that day, I scared the living bejeebers out of my twelve-year-old brother.
Before leaving for school, I fastened a butcher knife -- through a bulky knit sweater -- into a wad of tin foil above my heart. I lathered up with ketchup, lay in the driveway with my eyes open, my mouth a frozen, screaming o. Then I waited patiently for my brother to round the corner from the back door, his blue corduroy trousers making that irritating, thigh-scraping noise that only corduroy can effect.
He freaked the fuck out.
When my dad got home from work, he removed a significant layer of my ass. It took my brother almost thirty years to forgive me. And my mother was super pissed that I had ruined such a lovely sweater. (It was her handiwork. She had painstakingly knit the bugger, after all.)
I guess what I'm saying is: Have fun. Make some family history tomorrow.
3 years ago