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Punk'd

I was driving home yesterday from basketball practice with the Boy and his two buddies. I got a panicked text from the Girl.

It said, “What time should I wake up, Dad?”

To understand this text, I need to back up a few hours.

The Husband was driving the Girl and her friend to their riding lesson on Saturday morning. The Husband was told to BE at the barn at 11. The Husband was then told to LEAVE the barn and BE home no later than noon to meet the workman coming to discuss the install of new windows. The Girl would be driven home from the barn by her friend’s mom.

Now, back to the text.

“What time should I wake up, Dad?”

The Husband works late, very late during NFL season. He had climbed into bed around 3 Saturday morning. When I left for basketball practice at 9, he was still sleeping and the Girl was in charge.

Well, the text comes in at 10:45. This was not good.

I dialed our home number to rouse the Husband and to calm the Girl. I got voice mail.

I’d been had.

The Husband and the Girl were pranking me. No answer at home meant the two of them and the Girl’s friend were well on their way to the barn. Cocky and confident. He’d handled the morning schedule perfectly and was rubbing my nose in it. The Husband had put the Girl up to the text.

And it worked. In fact, it really worked.

Especially when I looked in my rearview mirror and saw the cop car following me. Especially when he turned on his blue lights. Especially when he sounded his siren. Especially when I slowed down and was pulled over.

Why, you ask? Because I was on my cell phone. A grand total of forty-five seconds. The exact time it took me to find out I’d been punk’d. And, apparently, the perfect amount of time to be noticed by a cop.

So I was sidelined. With the Boy and his two buddies in the back and the cop walking up to my window.

“Ma’am, were you on your phone when you passed me?”

“Yes, I was. I’m sorry. I got an emergency text from my daughter. I was calling her at home.”

“How old is your daughter?”

“Thirteen.”

“Where are you headed now?”

“Home.”

After a stern lecture and warning, he let me go. That cop had no idea that by letting me go, he was saving the Husband’s life.

I dropped off the Boy’s buddies and called the Husband from their driveway. I told him the fallout of his prank, to which he apologized through laughter. To him, the prank turned out even better than expected. Especially since he wasn’t out a c-note.

I went home. Now it’s noon and the windows guy has arrived. Still no Husband. I call him. “Where are you?”

“Leaving now. I just remembered.”

Seems that the Girl from the middle of her lesson had to tell the Husband that it was time for him to leave. Seems that the Girl’s friend had to tell the Husband that her mom was driving them home. Seems that the riding instructor had to confirm all of this.

So off he left. Not feeling so cocky or so confident this time. The swagger with which he made his prank just one hour earlier was now replaced with his usual modus operandi—mediocrity.

To me, now the prank had turned out even better than expected.

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