There’s No Use Crying Over Spilt Milk…


… Or in this case, disappearing ink.  That’s right, dear readers.  RM and the kids GOT me.  They got me good.

Allow me to set the scene for you…

Friday was a long day for me.  I was required to be at work early Friday morning and stay late.  After several busy evenings that week, I was craving a little time not only to unwind but also to get the house straightened up before RM and the kiddies arrived for the weekend.  RM, thankfully, obliged and took the kids to eat dinner to give me some time.  He jokingly told me on the phone that he and the kids would call when they were on their way, and they wouldn’t take this as an opportunity to scare me while I was home alone.  I said, “Well, good, because I just can’t take any scares tonight.  It would just be too much.”  Apparently, RM thought that only applied to scaring me, and being the practical joker he is, he never misses an opportunity.

Fast forward to a few hours later, RM had found ways to entertain the kids in downtown Bellevue, and I was happily enjoying some time on the couch watching Grey’s Anatomy on Hulu.  After I finished the episode, I prepped RM’s and the kids’ beds for their arrival.  I was just about to crawl into bed to read a bit before I zonked out early when RM called to say they would be there any minute.

I rallied to greet the kiddies and hear about their week at school.  All was well until I came back to the living room from my bedroom, and RM was telling Hannah she needed to come out of the bathroom immediately.  I didn’t understand why he was rushing her—she was just going to the bathroom for goodness sake.  Give a girl her privacy!

Then RM pointed me to the GIANT ink stain on the carpet and said, “I want to find out who did this.”  I immediately had flashbacks to my move-in inspection when my stern German landlord pointed out each and every carpet stain that was already here.  There’s no way this one is getting past Helga*, I thought to myself.  Don’t act angry with the kids, Christina.  Accidents happen.  They clearly didn’t mean to spill ink all over your WHITE carpet.  Play it cool.  Get the Resolve; let’s handle this one step at a time.  You’ll scrub all night to get it out if you have to.

I stood there, Resolve in hand, as RM questioned each of the kids, all of them refusing to take responsibility.  I thought back to an hour earlier when #1 had bumped up against that table.  Could it have been her?  I wouldn’t dare call her out on it because even if it was her, I was sure it was an accident.  I didn’t want to risk the recent strides I had made in my relationship with her.  It would be our secret.  #2 and #3 started to giggle, and RM rolled with it.

“This isn’t funny,” he told them.  “I want to know who did this and NOW.”  RM then took something out of his pocket and started to squeeze blue drops all over the carpet.  “It was ME!  I did it!  I did it!”

Then there was laughter.  And jumping up and down.  I was so confused.  RM informed me that it was disappearing ink.  Who even knew that EXISTED?  I did not see the humor, especially because it hadn’t DISAPPEARED YET.  Then all of the strength I had spent reining in how angry I was that there was an ink stain on my carpet was released in the form of, “How-dare-you-play-a-prank-on-me-when-I-told-you-how-long-my-day-was-and-asked-you-not-to-scare-me?”

While I’m still working to see the humor in the above scenario, I will say, they did an excellent job on the execution.  If I weren’t so unappreciative of practical jokes—especially when I’m on the receiving end of them—I would find tiny Oscars for all four of them and cover RM’s with some sort of sticky substance.  He hates having sticky fingers.

Oh, and the spot has officially disappeared.  Phew!

*My landlord’s name is not actually Helga, but it worked, right?