April Fool (Part II)

It was Jackie who suggested I videotape the victims’ reactions. (This was after her "Ur sick" text but before the one in which she questioned how I acquired Bianca in the first place.)

“We are witnessing Megan’s usual Saturday,” she replied to a texted selfie I sent she and Kelsey.

“Yep. I am so happy right now,” I told my friends. Visions of viral YouTube fame-dom danced in my head.

“U gotta put it in the bed and record matts reaction when he thinks it’s you,” Jackie added.

But while Bianca’s permanently seated position proved quite suitable to the car, it did not lend itself to the horizontal. So I did not attempt slipping her between the sheets of my marital bed. Instead, I targeted the downstairs half-bath, the one that features both a toilet for human-sized behinds and a litter box for feline-sized ones. Getting the videocameras inside proved easy. Smuggling in a laundry basket full of fiberglass body parts was not because Matt (Victim No. 1) happened to be cooking dinner directly across from the bathroom. An impromptu phone call from his brother proved advantageously distracting, but the position of the steaming pasta pot he so diligently monitored would prove a challenge. Luckily, Victim No. 1 began pacing. Into the living room.

I tossed a towel over Bianca’s bits, seized the basket and prepared to waltz from the garage to the laundry room to the bathroom, a distance of about 15 feet. But then Victim No. 1’s once-muffled voice grew louder. I hastened back into the shadowy alcove beside the dryer. Pasta noodles stirred. The voice fell faint once more. I tiptoed into the rumpus room – no! Victim No. 1 returned! Damn those noodles! 

Like the ocean tide, my basket and I receded and returned. Receded and returned. Receded and – then, a break! We rounded the corner and slipped into the bathroom. I closed the door, turned the lock and commenced assembling my woman.

I set Bianca – still in the buff – on the toilet seat and positioned the videocameras to best capture each victims’ stunned visage as they entered the tiny room. The plan, now fully formed, was to terrify Victim No. 1 and then recruit him to terrify Alicia (Victim No. 2) when she returned from the gym. I mashed the record buttons and strolled into the kitchen.

“One of the cats’ dropped a real bomb in there,” I said. “It’s absolutely awful.”

Victim No. 1 ate the bait.

“OK,” he groaned. “I’ll clean it up after dinner.”

And so we sat down to eat. Noodles slurped, salad speared. But then – calamity! – Victim No. 2 arrived home earlier than expected. We invited her to dine, and I did my best to concentrate on the spaghetti before me.

“Um, excuse me,” I said, halfway through the meal. Although Victim No. 1 and I generally consumed meals without much fanfare, adding bubbly Victim No. 2 to the mix would surely prolong the chitchat – and drain my camera batteries. I stepped into the bathroom, ran the water and flushed the toilet to mask the telltale beep as I switched both recorders into the “off” position.

I rejoined the dinner table. Victim No. 1 and Victim No. 2 were trading favorite movie selections. Although I had prompted the conversation, I could not fully follow what either of my companions said. Fiery indigestion danced in my chest. Should I restart the cameras or wait? How long should I wait? When would this meal end?!

“Excuse me,” I said, ducking into the bathroom to activate the cameras once more. Victim No. 2 had consumed her last noodle and Victim No. 1 was lingering in the rumpus room, dangerously close to Bianca. Luckily, Wolfie saved the day.

“Don’t let him go in there,” I told Victim No. 1 as the dog trotted toward his anticipated second dinner.

“I’ll go clean it now,” Victim No. 1 said, sighing. He neared the bathroom. I bit my lip. 

“Watch this,” I told Victim No. 2, pulling out my iPhone, a third videocamera offering yet another angle for my future YouTube masterpiece.

“Huh?”

The moment, when it finally came, was supremely unsatisfying.

“What-the-crap-is-that?” Victim No. 1 said, raising his arms in disbelief. No scream. No screech. No shout. Just a bemused smile. And an about-face.

“Huh?” Victim No. 2 said again. "What did you do?"

l-r: Victim No. 2, Victim No. 1 and one confused dog

“Go in there,” I said.

Even though Victim No. 2 entered the bathroom fully expecting something amiss, her reaction was candid; she expected – at worst -- a giant smelly cat turd and instead feasted her eyes upon a remarkably naked stranger presumably going about her business.

“Whhhhhhhooooooa!” Victim No. 2 sang, clutching herself. “She’s scary!”





Jackpot. 

“Tomorrow, I’m taking her to work,” I said.

To be continued...