I live in a pretty quiet neighborhood. Most of the houses surrounding mine are occupied by people so elderly that, should one happen to walk out of their house and into the sunlight, I fear that they might crumble to dust. There are some pockets of college kids living nearby, but, aside from the occasional stray drunken idiot, we don't get much traffic from them. So, I am content to live quietly and not over-stimulate my dessicated neighbors by putting out an excess of holiday decorations.
The only time I tend to violate this pledge is during Halloween. My daughter insists on carving a number of pumpkins each year and putting them out on the porch. Like any good father, I do my best to accommodate her, letting her design the pumpkin but insisting that I take care of the actual carving. Each year we put the pumpkins out on the porch for about two weeks, watch them attract lady-beetles, slowly watch them rot, and then promptly discard the pumpkin corpses come November 1.
When I got home from work this afternoon, something strange greeted me. The pumpkins had been moved. Not only that, but pieces of sidewalk chalk, which my daughter had used earlier in the week to decorate the driveway, were pitted into the corner of each pumpkin's mouth. My first reaction was to think that stoner's had robbed my house. My second reaction was to lament at how useless my two lapdogs were as watch dogs. They wouldn't do much more than beg for treats while some stoned college student walked off with my television.
As I entered the house, I noticed that all was well. The television was still there. What a relief. I had obviously been the victim of a Halloween prank. But, by whom? None of my neighbors had the strength to manipulate their opposable thumbs, much less lift an entire pumpkin. Cautiously, I made a call to Jason. After the requisite small talk, I had to flat out ask him if he was the culprit. A laugh exploded from my cell phone. In a fit of creative inspiration, he had given each of the pumpkins a cigar. Brilliant. I was relieved that someone with a brain was toying with me, rather than some drunken frat boy stumbling home from Four O'Clock Club.
Good one, Jason. Kudos to you.