Brilliance Can’t Be Rushed

THE IDEAL PRANK, LIKE A FINE WINE, NEEDS TIME TO MATURE.

MY HOMETOWN OF OSSIAN THREW A BIG

party in celebration of its centennial in 1950. There were carnival rides set up on Main Street and various games of skill. One involved tipping milk bottles for prizes. I won a small sack of rubber maggots at this game. They were so well made that when placed on a flat surface, they would wiggle vigorously from even the smallest movement nearby.

I couldn’t think what to do with the ugly things, but they looked so real, there was no question of their value. I stored them in a dresser drawer until some later inspiration led me back to them.

I came in from chopping weeds one day to find a home-cured ham cooling on a platter in the pantry. After cutting off a couple of slices for a snack, I realized that I might have discovered the perfect use for my fake maggots.

I sprinkled them liberally over the ham, and used a matchstick to auger holes in the meat and slip in a few little monsters with just their heads poking out. It was a work of art.

A couple of hours later, Dad came in from the field for a snack, and I joined him. Mom set the table and went to get the ham. She was a long time in the pantry, so I knew she must have spied my creation. Finally, in German, Mom asked Dad to come into the pantry. There was considerable whispering and then Mom said “See? They’re alive.” I couldn’t see what was going on, but her comment suggested that she had moved the platter, making the little rubber devils skitter.

More whispering in German and then Mom declared “Ich denke nicht!” (“I don’t think so!”) And out she came, carrying the platter at arm’s length and heading for the chickens.

I followed her out and asked her why there was rice on the meat. Before she could answer, I scooped a handful of the fake maggots and popped them into my mouth.

Poor Mom. She nearly fainted. I held a straight face as I chewed for as long as I could, but finally broke into laughter. The game was up. I confessed before the delicious ham became chicken feed. Both parents frowned, unsure of their response, before they laughed, too.

Now and then, perfection is possible. It’s all a matter of timing.