your comments yesterday were brilliant. you weren't messy...you were naughty!
i love that about you.
my sister called in the afternoon, and seriously couldn't say a word for a few seconds. she was laughing too hard at this little gem from lkm:
...then there was the time it seemed like a good idea to pop up the floor tiles in the study with a toilet plunger. sprinkle sugar underneath, and replace the tiles. why? because it made such a cool crunchy sound while 'sailing the ocean blue' in laundry baskets and cardboard boxes.
long forgotten and well on the way to other messes by the time mom and dad were scratching their heads trying to figure out the source of the ant infestation.
i swear it was the whoops with a period that sent us both over the edge.
all of that reminded me of this friend i once found, who was honestly the most proper number-loving, old-school business suit woman i'd ever met. i liked her anyway.
she worried to no end that her daughter would end up just like her. i nodded dumbly and threw in a worried, scrunched-up forehead "conservative?" uhhh. no, karey. but thanks for that.
apparently, she went through a horrid stage when she was about eight or nine. like, a felony stage.
she had a bunch of genius pranks stuffed into her back pocket, but my favorite involved her neighbor's historic southern manse with one of those fancy brass mail slots in the front door. original to the house. if you peeked in it, you could see the cherry wood floors they'd lovingly restored. original to the house.
my friend thought it'd be hilarious if she ran the garden hose through that little secret slot. think about it, will you? the owners come home after work, walk in their front door, and slip on a tiny puddle in their foyer. falling flat on their fancy little bums. original to the house.
her plan went awry. horribly. because she forgot about the hose until hours later. it was the sirens that reminded her.
i could write a book about uncle sugar's childhood. that boy's pranks were brutal, and my favorite moments still are when he gets that devil of a spark in his eyes. i can see the little monkey he once was. love that.
one of his best tricks was when he left a note at the bank back when he was in grade school.
it read, in part, HELP. something about being held captive by a crazy woman, which was probably true. that boy was perpetually grounded.
long story as short as it can be...the police came. uncle sugar disappeared. and his mother, i'm told, convinced the officers that, with five children all of varying versions of killer-naughty, she was the only person in that house being held against her will.
they took one look around. and left.
more than a little inspired by jan welters' portraits, as found first by stash studios. my hair appointment isn't until sunday, so somebody might be printing out a few of these bad boys, yes? yes. and thanks for yesterday's comments. they made me laugh and laugh and laugh. if you're in the mood, more please...