Smell my Christmas Finger
I once thought being a parent was the highlight of my life, it still is, but there’s also the part of my heart that was and still is reserved for my grandchildren. When Iz was first pregnant I was scared for her. She was single and afraid to tell us. Had it not been for Rusty, I think her life would have gone in a different direction, even with her mother and my guidance. This story isn’t about my Izzy. It’s about the little bundle of joy that came from her womb.
Sarah is my first grandchild. She’s the spitting image of her mother and the brightest part of my day. She reminds me so much of old times with her mom and I get a kick out of being able to repeat some of the things I was able to share and teach her mom.
She’s also my secret little ninja. No one suspects she can be ornery so we get away with more because of it.
I’d say one of her favorite things is to sabotage the twins. She thinks it’s funny to do things behind their backs and watch them freak out. After hearing Miranda complain about their room, they were forced to spend a day cleaning. Imagine two grown boys their senior year of high school punished in their rooms. I thought we’d never hear the end of it.
In their defense, the boys had separate rooms. At the time they’d decided to use one for entertaining their friends when they would come over and the other for their beds and clothes. The dirty one was the one they slept in.
Miranda left with all the women to do the Christmas shopping, while I stayed home to look after Sarah and the baby. She was probably four or five at the time. For a while we made popcorn strands to hang on the tree, but once the baby went down for a nap we were getting bored with the tedious task.
The boys finally finished their cleaning and headed out to the barn to hang with their cousins. They had their own space in the old hay loft and usually spent their time up there. God knows I used to do some crazy things up there myself, so I can only imagine the trouble they got into. If they were anything like me, which I know they are, it was sex, booze and probably other crap they shouldn’t be doing.
“I have an idea,” I tell Sarah. “Want to play a joke on your uncles?”
She nods with excitement? “Can we unplug their games?”
“No, not this time. We’re going to get them good. Follow me.”
A bowl of Hershey Kisses was always on the kitchen at Christmas time. Miranda and the kids ate them like they were crack. I’m surprised they still have their teeth. I’m more of a sweets man myself. Nothing like licking on a lolly pop and pretending it’s something else, but let’s not get sidetracked.
My eager granddaughter follows me into the boys room. They left the lights on and the closet doors open, but for the most part it’s clean. Miranda will make them vacuum when she returns and there’s no doubt she’ll bitch about something else they missed in the process.
With family coming for Christmas, it’s only natural for her to want the house spotless. She goes a little crazy at Christmas, but I think that’s just a woman thing. Every one that I know does it, especially neat freak Van.
“Why are we taking the chocolate to their room? Are we hiding it from Grandma?”
“No. We’re going to use it for something.”
“Oh.” She’s confused, so I feel the need to explain.
“We’re going to put poop in all their underwear,” I say with a scrunched face. “Gross, right?”
“Eww,” she replies with two missing front teeth.
Grabbing all of the underwear from their drawers, We spread them out on the bed and get to work. I show Sarah what to do. “Okay, unwrap your chocolate and then take it and drag it down the fabric like this.”
She giggles into her hands. “It looks like poop.”
“I know. That’s the point. It will look like they pooped themselves.”
A long time ago I played this joke on Colt. He was so pissed. It was a riot.
For the next twenty minutes Sarah and I work on getting all the skid marks on the underwear. Once done, I fold them up so they won’t be able to tell. Since I know the boys usually dress in the dark, this will be perfect. At some point someone else is going to notice.
When we’re finished, I have chocolate on my finger and stick it in her face. “Smell my finger. It’s poop.”
She cowers across the room and squeals, playing around. “No, it’s not chocolate. It’s poop. Oh it smells so stinky.”
I chase her around the house and tackle her on the coach to tickle her. One thing that’s great about Sarah is that she keeps our top secret missions under lock and key. I think she knows her mother would scold her for listening to anything I say.
It took the twins three days to discover they were walking around with shit stains in their drawers. Since they insisted on wearing their pants below their ass, the underwear always stuck out. We were at church and a nice old lady came up and pointed it out to Miranda. She said, Cleanliness is Godliness.
Right away they knew I was the culprit, but the damage was done. Females their age were cringing with disgust and I knew they’d never live it down. Jax went as far as to rub some of it and smell his finger. He was walking around asking people to smell it.
Sarah must have been watching it all unfold, but I was too busy paying attention to the idiots asking our preacher to smell their fingers. Miranda didn’t talk to me for days. She’s was embarrassed. I’d even told the preacher what I’d done in hopes that it would help, but it didn’t matter. She was as mad as a disturbed hornet.
That next Sunday night we were all gathered for a dinner. When the family is in from out of town we all eat together in the converted barn. We have a long table that seats everyone, except for the kids. They have their own table. We’re halfway through a ham dinner when Sarah comes up behind me with a smile plastered across her cute face. She sticks out her finger that has a brown tip. “Grandpa, smell my finger.” Assuming she’s playing the chocolate joke, I narrow in and take a whiff. She brings her finger closer and smashes it into my nostril. The next thing I know I’m running for the toilet with vomit shooting from my mouth. I swear I smelled it for days. No matter how many times I cleaned my face and nostril, it still lingered.
It was shit. Real shit.
The twins had put her up to it and her little sneaky ass went along with it. I still don’t know whose butt it came from. I don’t want to know, but I can tell ya that I’ve never ever played that prank on anyone ever again.
Lesson learned