I sure hope everyone had a practical joke-free April Fool’s Day yesterday. I sure did.

In fact, the first and last time I pulled an April Fool’s joke, I was eight. Browsing the shoulder-high racks of hardy boys, knock-knock joke books, and the like at my elementary school book fair, I came across a practical joke book.

In it, were 101 ways to prank your friends, parents, and teachers. Of course, it came with illustrations of people prostrated with laughter, upon execution of one of said 101 practical jokes.

So, armed with my eight-year-old sense of humor, I awoke at 4am on April 1st, and crept into my parents’ bedroom. I thought it would be hysterical to pour talcum powder on my Mom’s pillow, and reset my Dad’s alarm clock for 5am. For good measure, I also took it upon myself to reorganize their underwear drawers.

I crept back to my bedroom and lay awake for the next forty-five minutes giggling to myself at the hilarity that would undoubtedly ensue.

Fast forward to 5am, when my Dad’s alarm clock is blaring, and I hear confused mutterings of, “What the Hell?” and “Wait. What’s on your face.” and “Wasn’t he reading that damn joke book the other day?”

So imagine my surprise when my parents barged into my room to find my grinning from ear to ear, and unleashed the fury that only parents can when preparing to dole out punishment.

My smile quickly faded as they lectured at me for the next ten minutes. The only bit of it I remember is:

“What were you thinking? We could have suffocated! Was that what you were going for? Were you trying to kill us?”

Yes, my parents made me cry that day.

So I hope you remember that little story the next time you tie a dead frog to a string and drag it around the room trying to frighten everyone.

Next topic:

So I’m at wine tasting last night, with five glasses of unnamed varietals spread out in front of me, enjoying my jerk swordfish on jalapeño cornbread, when I notice a sheet of paper lying on the table.

Last night, we were introduced to the Wine Aroma Wheel.

Apparently, some professors took it upon themselves to classify wines by their aroma. While it sounds like a pretty good idea in theory, I began growing quite concerned the further I read.

For example, some wines I never want to smell are wines classified as:

Sweaty
Horsey
Sauerkraut
Wet Dog
Menthol
Skunk
Diesel/Kerosene
Artificial Fruit.

Artificial Fruit. That’s my all-time favorite. What does artificial fruit smell like? Why not call it “waxy”, or “plastic”? I suppose I’m missing something.

Or better yet, why would a winemaker sniff a glass and think, “Hmm…This vintage smells like wet dog. Let’s make more, bottle it, and sell it for $19.99.”

Most of the wines we had last night were pretty good. However, there was a particular Cabernet-Sauvignon that smelled like my gym bag. I guess it was “sweaty”.

As you can guess from today’s title, today is my Mom’s birthday. Happy B-Day Mom!

And congratulations to my cousin, Jody, who gave birth to a strapping son yesterday morning. Welcome to the world Scott Robert Riseberg.

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