And down I go again

For several years my friend Michael has pranked me on April Fool's Day, and I have fallen for it. I wrote about two of them here. Things have been quiet for the last two years, and of course, I got complacent. (I also blame staying up late to watch the UConn women finally get beat after 111 straight wins. I was sleep-deprived.)

This morning at 8:00 a.m. Let me say that again, this morning at 8:00 a.m. on a SATURDAY, my husband came into my bedroom and woke me. Every year our neighborhood has an annual spring garage sale where we can all participate, and the association advertises it in the paper. Tons of people arrive in our hood and drive over our sprinkler heads, and shop. 

Last year my husband woke me up to tell me that our neighbor next door was selling a kitchen set, and I needed to get up and go check it out because he wanted to buy it. I griped about having to get up, refused, and he whined about how he was going to buy it anyway. I got up, saw the table didn't match my kitchen at all and ended up spending the entire day in my pajamas with my new neighbor.

This morning, Tom came into my room and woke me up, telling me the neighborhood was having its annual garage sale. I mumbled, rolled back over, and snuggled under the covers. Saturday is my day to sleep in, and I am a woman who loves sleeping in. He persisted. I thought about how this was exactly what he did last year, and I was seriously getting pissed.

Tom: "Cara. Cara. Seriously. The neighborhood has the coolest garage sales."

Me: "I don't care. I'm not looking at any kitchen tables."

Tom: "But, look what I got."

Me: "I don't care. Seriously, Tom, I stayed up to watch the women's basketball until after 1:00. I don't care. Go away."

But he didn't, and I started to get worried about what he had purchased, and so I rolled over to see. This is what he had.

I freaked out. It was a sixty-pound pig--IN MY BEDROOM. Let me tell you, a sixty-pound pig is HUGE. He came over to the bed and sniffed me, and then wandered around my bedroom. I was shrieking while he was doing this, and then it suddenly popped into my head that the only person I knew who had a pig was our friend Michael. I've only seen the pig via Instagram, but every time I asked about the pig, I've been told, "He's the same size as Elliot." 

Uh-huh.

Me: "Is that Michael's pig?"

Tom: "Michael, who? No, I just got a great deal on him."

I could hear Elliot whining in the other room, and so I freaked out some more.

Me: "Take that thing out of here. Oh, my god, Tom, what the hell?"

Tom: "I know. Isn't it cool?"

Me: "I'm not kidding. Get it out of here before it pees on my carpet."

Tom: "He's house trained. He isn't going to pee in here."

I continued to freak and vaguely thought about how an ugly kitchen table would have been way better than this. I also thought about how my husband was going to spend his nights on the floor with his new pet too.

Me: "Oh, my god, that is Michael's pig. Is that Michael's pig?"

Tom: "I told you. I got a great deal."

I jumped out of bed in my pajamas and marched out to my living room, where I found Michael laughing, holding my poor dog by his leash.

Michael: "April Fool's!"

I had forgotten. Who remembers this holiday? I was ready to throttle him. But then I gave him kudos for getting me. Again. Seriously? He called my husband a week ago and plotted this out. The garage sale thing worked in their favor.

We went outside, and the pig rooted around our yard, eating acorns while the garage sale people freaked out. One woman walking to a sale saw the pig, and her mouth gaped, and she nearly got hit by a man backing up his van. It was not the way I wanted to wake up either, lady.

But Michael brought donuts and gave me something to blog about too, so I forgave him. For as long as it took me to eat the sugary goodness.

Then I stewed about it while petting Oscar, the pig, and texted a picture of him to my Steelers buddy, who got me two years ago on this day. I told him that Tom got him at a garage sale. I mean, I can't always be the fool, right?