April Fool's Day

Most every year (when I'm thinking straight), I play a little April Fool's Day joke on my homies. This morning on our way home from the gym, I said to mi Amor, "Let's really fool them. Let's cook a frozen pizza, and when they wake-up we'll say they slept through the day and now it's time for dinner."

Mi Amor rolled his eyes and said, "L-A-M-E!"

"Instead," he suggested. "We'll fill their breakfast plates with broccoli!" (Remember my kids are allergic to anything healthy?) Then we'll say, "Breakfast is served!" Dunt Dunt Dah! (insert villainous music here).

I thought to myself, "I think I married Einstein because this idea is brilliant!"

One by one my homies wobbled out of their rooms and found their place at the breakfast table.

I said in a cheery voice, "Get it while you can! Fresh organic broccoli, hand selected especially for you, this very morning from Walmart's produce department!" My homies were not amused, and the littlest started crying, flinging his body to the ground in absolute horror. (5 solid years of breakfast with Toucan Sam will cause a child to react in such a way.)

I was ready to keep playing along, especially since the other two had begun taking petite bites of their broccoli. I delighted in watching them pucker, chew, and swallow in pure disgust. They are so trusting, really. Can you believe they believe I know what's best for them?

As I began telling my littlest homie to get-up to the table so he could grow some hair on his chest, I remembered that I had forgotten to wash the broccoli. A bit panicked (because who knows what kind of germs lurk on unwashed organic broccoli), I said, "Halt the veggie feast, ya'll!" Then, like a ray of April Fool's Day light, mi Amor came into the kitchen, tall and sweaty. There he stood, balancing a box of day-old donuts on his hand like a waiter delivering a feast to a table full of neglected and starving children.

He's a genius, I tell you. Because who looks like the Wicked Witch of the West now?