**Feel Good Friday is tomorrow! Which prompt will you choose?
*** For those of you who read my post yesterday and watched the vlog, the neighbor who I yelled at was my mother!!! I forgot that many new readers might not know this! Oops! I would never yell at a neighbor like that, only Mom! Ha!
My mom says that I cannot tell good lie because it shows on my face.
I know it does. I get all twitchy and red, and I am pretty sure I might wink uncontrollably.
Now for years I have been coming up with highly elaborate April Fools jokes only to be shot down by my mother in mere seconds.
But there was that one year…
My dad taught me how to golf in the park down the road when I was 8 years old. He said that if I could hit the ball 100 yards he would take me to the golf course.
After that, any time we wanted to work on our game instead of going to the driving range we would just head to the park to practice.
It was great. We would go to the playground to work on our sand game, or if we wanted to work on our driver, we would take old balls and hit them into the lake.
Obviously, we never hit balls if people were around. We may be dumb, but we are not stupid.
Other people were stupid so our city passed a law to make it illegal to hit golf balls in any park with a $500 fine.
Did it stop us?
Well, it stopped me.
I abide by laws.
My dad did not.
He figured that if he saw a cop car he would stop, but as long as nobody was around, he was good to go.
Eventually I caved because his thought process made sense and I needed to work on my 5-iron.
At this point you need to know that I am a pretty good golfer. When I hit the ball well, it goes like a bullet.
On this particular April 1, 1993, my dad and I went to the park. There were people walking around the lake, so I couldn’t work on my 5-iron. Instead we headed to the softball field to work on our short game.
The softball field is probably 150 yards end to end. At the end of the field is a warming house for hockey. Outside of the warming house is a giant propane tank.
We like to use the warming house as a target.
There is no WAY I am going to hit a wedge 150 yards. 125 yards, tops.
So I am really in a groove and I am hitting ball after ball and then I HIT the propane tank…HARD!
I look at dad and he looks at me and we mutually decide that it is time to leave the park. On our way home we concoct the Best April Fool’s Joke Ever.
After our plotting and planning I run home so that I am sufficiently out of breath when I call my mom at work.
I am huffing and puffing and hysterically tell her that we hit balls at the park and that I just had to work on my 5 iron and that I hit the propane tank and it blew up and that the warming house is up in flames.
I proceed to (pretend to) cry, saying that we ran home as fast as we could and I don’t know what to do.
Apparently I am able to lie over the phone because now my mom is hysterical saying how she “told us” over and over that we should not be hitting balls in the park and she tells me to wait to do anything until she gets home.
We let her sit on that story for a good 20 minutes before I called her back and said “April Fools.”
She said the only reason she believed the story was because when dad and I get together she always expects something to go terribly wrong.
She just isn’t ever sure which one of us is Dum
b and which one is Dumber.