How handy
My mom’s side of the family has always been a bit on the kooky side. For years, one of my aunts or my parents would dutifully pick up a card for my grandparents, whether it was for their anniversary or birthday or Christmas. They would then write a little note about how sad they were that they couldn’t make the occasion, and then they’d sign it: Love, Steve.
We don’t have a relative named Steve.
But my grandparents started to think we did. The gag took on mythical proportions; whenever the family was together, a card from Steve would appear, his zip code changing over the years. My grandparents wracked their brains, trying to remember which relative this “Steve” could belong to. Over time, his legend grew.
Chaos nearly ensued during their 60th wedding anniversary party, when yet another card from Steve arrived. Without a stamp. Which meant Steve had dropped the card off in person. With my grandparents freaking, we finally revealed the joke.
With one practical joke now dead, my aunt focused her energy on our other long-running gag – passing this along to unsuspecting family members:
This thing has been passed along for over 15 years to various people, in various forms: as Christmas or birthday gifts, hidden in cars, in care packages for unsuspecting people in college (that would be me, dammit), in couches, and in a refrigerator that was being picked up by the rental place that day (the rental place had so much fun with it they were reluctant to return it). It’s been mailed tightly coiled, so it will “spring” open when the box flap is pulled. It’s been left in mailboxes, under toilet seats, and in washing machines.
And now I have it. I got it last Christmas when I wasn’t paranoid enough about opening a present whose “from:” information was curiously illegible. I’ve had two opportunities to pass it on and I’ve squandered both of them. I have two relatives in the Twin Cities that I can pass it on to; otherwise everyone else is available only through the post office.
So how do I get rid of this thing? Everyone knows I have it, and all the great hiding places have been exhausted. And trust me, NO ONE leaves their cars unlocked anymore at any kind of family function and the old, “Hey, can I borrow your car keys to put something in your car?” doesn’t work.
I need a clever way to pass this on. Won’t you give me a hand? Thanks.
Signed,
Steve
