Good One

On Sunday, the married son runs through the garage and into the laundry room, clutching his tush for dear life. On his face, a convincing look of panic. "I had an accident!" he says, darting into the bathroom. His brother and I look at each other. "Oh, dear God!" I say. "Billy, no!" Scotty says.

Meanwhile, my mind starts racing: "Great, he's sick, he's got the flu, he's going to ruin Passover, he's going to get everyone sick, I've got elderly people on the way, a near-90-year-old, a 92-year-old... this is bad... why didn't he call, why didn't he -- "

In walks the lovely French bride, biting her lip, embarrassed on behalf of her new husband. "Billy... had a little accident," she says. A moment later, the bathroom door opens. "APRIL FOOLS!" he yells. "I totally believed you!" "I did too, you prick!" "I knew you'd fall for it!"

Billy is so proud of himself, it's alarming. Chloe can't stop giggling. We are all doubled over, laughing. Longtime hubby, their first victim, tricked on the driveway, enters, laughing. "That is so wrong."

The rest of the day, we all laugh on and off, mainly over how, despite his successful toddlerhood graduation from the SJG Potty Training Academy, his "accident" still strikes us as completely plausible. After considerable debate, we decide to leave this story out of the Two-Minute Seder.