This Is An Italian Trap

See, someone may well find an irresistable urge to post here. I am almost certain it is someone who is not, or at least was not 19 years ago, well versed in the proper method of short-sheeting a bed, whose skills in practical joking I hope have improved. But I push too hard, I think, and perhaps am being unfair. Allow me to elaborate.

Think back to late March 1986. Where were you? I was on a plane, first for New York, and then for Rome. The person to my right on the first leg of the journey (actually, beside me the whole way) kept talking. I had a plan for my flight, and it didn't involve chatting with a person I didn't know, so I tormented my fellow traveler with a comment that went something like this: "Oh, look like we just lost the number one engine." Given that I had been flying since before I was one, and my fellow traveler had never set foot on an airplane before, that was rather cruel of me. I can admit that (I would have then, had anyone asked).

Later on, my two roommates and I played a practical joke, on April 1st, of course, that resulted in a resounding crash that echoed through the halls of a three-star hotel in Florence (fantastic city!). Two of us were trapped in our room, lights off, praying that the hammering on the door and the calls of, "Open up! We know you're in there," would end in short enough order that we might effect an escape.

We were horrors, American blights on the human landscape of a foreign country, the history of which we respected more than the present. We were teenagers, for God's sake! Still, though the comparison to Dr. Chilton is perhaps not the best I can make for myself, I do enjoy my petty torments. Thankfully, in 2005 all involved may enjoy them, I believe, with at least small corners of our mouths turned up.

The bait is set. Now, will a comment be made?