Juvenile Delinquents

Yesterday, we were at my daughter's weekly Spanish class at the library. It went unusually long this week, and they announced that it was close to closing time. My daughter said we had to hurry and I told her that maybe they'd close and turn off the lights and go home and lock the doors and we'd be stuck there all night alone! She only looked panicked for about half a second before the big grin happened and she said that would be cool. Yeah, it would. So we started coming up with ideas of what we'd do if that happened. The best ones are hers.

The first and obvious activity of the evening would be to run around the library yelling, and nobody could shush us. Then we'd each take a floor and flush the toilets at the same time. We could use the PA system to announce subway stops and call the manager to the meat department. Those were my lame ideas, but she laughed uproariously at them. She decided that we should nail or glue all the tables, chairs, bookcases, etc. upside-down to the ceiling. We should also make signs to put in various places, like on the door "automatic door- to operate, say 'please'". We'd put an "out of order" sign on the stairs, and a "horse parking" sign somewhere as well and of course "watch for low-flying airplanes". She wanted to paint a wall to look like a corridor with a pool at the end and put a sign saying "this way to pool". Of course, we'd have to come back the next day to see all the fun. Especially the people walking into the wall on the way to the pool and the traffic jam at the door with everyone yelling "please" at it.

She wanted to hide in the bathroom and see if we could actually get locked in for the night. She figured we'd just call my husband and let him know and it would be fine. Thankfully, I did not give in to the childish temptation that lurks within me, waiting to cause chaos at any moment. It's not that I haven't, but I temper it safely, like the rare pie and popcorn dinner. I fear that in the coming years, with my kids getting older, the temptation will be greater. We get it from my dad. He died at the age of 63 or 5, depending on who you ask. Now that he's dead, he'll probably be whispering in our brains and encouraging our behavior. At least when he was alive, I could hang up or put a hand over his mouth. I think we're just doomed now. Dang.