There's nothing like a good practical joke; especially one that is lighthearted, with no malicious intent. Practical joking is sort of in my blood, inherited from my Father, most likely. Except the practical joking trait displays a wide range of continuous phenotypic variation much like, for example, height. The range of joking here would run from "that is soooooo not funny" to "ROTFLMAO". There may also be a certain degree of phenotypic plasticity here that explains the environmental influence on the funniness of practical jokes. For instance, consider the degree of funny on sliding a whoopee cushion under your sibling's behind. When done in the confines of your own home, during family dinner or perhaps a slumber party, well, yeah, that could be pretty funny. Done in the middle of church, with your parents two seats down, well, that could yield bad consequences for all those involved, including innocent bystanders. But, once again, I have severely digressed.
Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, the gift that kept on giving. The best practical joke is one that does not end. It just keeps going and going and going, with no one "in the know" breaking the code of silence. One Christmas, my partner in crime *ahem*husband*ahem*, decided to take advantage of my Mother's obsession with knowing who gave her what, who is responsible for whatever, and whom to thank when thanks is due. Now, we've tried to explain to Mother that no thanks is ever due FROM her, but plenty TO her, but she still insists on knowing the source of anonymous gifts. Being a frugal woman, she really liked the scent of a name-brand perfume, but was content with the knock-off brand and so, to save money, she would buy the knock off. Nothing wrong with that. I do that, myself. So do a lot of people. But have you ever done that and found yourself continuously rationalizing "see, it smells just like the real thing and is only a fraction of the price?"
One Christmas, we got the bright idea, nay, masterful idea, to buy the real brand of her favorite perfume, wrap it up and just put a tag on it that said "Mom." No "From....." No Card attached. And ambiguous enough handwriting that made it impossible to identify the gift giver. Delighted at getting the real thing, but thoroughly confused over which child "spent too much" on her, my Mother spent all Christmas Day and perhaps the next week, trying to get each of us to fess up. And when I say each of us, I mean just about every child in my cheaper by the dozen family. Was it Pat? No? Yes, it must have been Pat. No, Pat says it wasn't her. Linda did it. It had to have been Linda. No, Linda says it wasn't her. And so on, and so on, and so on down the line of children. There were even fits of frustration: "Come on now! This isn't funny! Someone tell me who got me this!" But yes, Mom, it was funny. And given the fact that to this day, she still doesn't know who got her the real deal perfume, it is still very funny. It has become folklore of sorts, with reminiscent stories often starting off with "Remember that time when someone got Mom that expensive perfume and didn't say who it was from?"
Ah! Humor! The gift that keeps on giving! Just the thought of the next devious Christmas gift is enough to light that Christmas spirit fire in the heart of an old humbug like yours truly. Who will be the next victim? Or maybe it is time for a repeat on Mother. Hmmmmmmm. Wheels are turning.
Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, the gift that kept on giving. The best practical joke is one that does not end. It just keeps going and going and going, with no one "in the know" breaking the code of silence. One Christmas, my partner in crime *ahem*husband*ahem*, decided to take advantage of my Mother's obsession with knowing who gave her what, who is responsible for whatever, and whom to thank when thanks is due. Now, we've tried to explain to Mother that no thanks is ever due FROM her, but plenty TO her, but she still insists on knowing the source of anonymous gifts. Being a frugal woman, she really liked the scent of a name-brand perfume, but was content with the knock-off brand and so, to save money, she would buy the knock off. Nothing wrong with that. I do that, myself. So do a lot of people. But have you ever done that and found yourself continuously rationalizing "see, it smells just like the real thing and is only a fraction of the price?"
One Christmas, we got the bright idea, nay, masterful idea, to buy the real brand of her favorite perfume, wrap it up and just put a tag on it that said "Mom." No "From....." No Card attached. And ambiguous enough handwriting that made it impossible to identify the gift giver. Delighted at getting the real thing, but thoroughly confused over which child "spent too much" on her, my Mother spent all Christmas Day and perhaps the next week, trying to get each of us to fess up. And when I say each of us, I mean just about every child in my cheaper by the dozen family. Was it Pat? No? Yes, it must have been Pat. No, Pat says it wasn't her. Linda did it. It had to have been Linda. No, Linda says it wasn't her. And so on, and so on, and so on down the line of children. There were even fits of frustration: "Come on now! This isn't funny! Someone tell me who got me this!" But yes, Mom, it was funny. And given the fact that to this day, she still doesn't know who got her the real deal perfume, it is still very funny. It has become folklore of sorts, with reminiscent stories often starting off with "Remember that time when someone got Mom that expensive perfume and didn't say who it was from?"
Ah! Humor! The gift that keeps on giving! Just the thought of the next devious Christmas gift is enough to light that Christmas spirit fire in the heart of an old humbug like yours truly. Who will be the next victim? Or maybe it is time for a repeat on Mother. Hmmmmmmm. Wheels are turning.
Comments