Over the course of the last month, we've had a problem with doorbell ditchers. They like to come around midnight, which doesn't wake me up because I'm up anyway, but it's annoying and rude.
Sunday night, I was looking around my kitchen and noticed a distinct lack of food. My mom was visiting, and I asked her if she wanted to go for a midnight grocery run with me. (See, it's not breaking the Sabbath if you wait until midnight to go.) She agreed, and went home with the plan that she would come back at midnight to pick me up.
My son was sitting on the couch, unable to sleep, as 12:00 approached. Suddenly I got a wild-hair idea.
"I have the feeling someone's going to knock on our door tonight," I said.
"How do you know?" he asked.
"I've just got this feeling. Now, when they come, I want you to fling open the door and catch them."
He squatted by the door, ready to help bring down the nefarious ditchers. After about a minute, he said, "Are you sure they're coming?"
"Yes, I really, really feel that they are. Just keep waiting."
About thirty seconds later, a knock sounded at the door. He jumped up and opened it. "Oh, hi, Grandma," he said, letting her in.
Now, that was amusing. But this is how I envisioned it:
Son throws open the door with a loud cry of "Gotcha!"
Grandma jumps and screams.
Son jumps and screams, realizing it's his grandma.
I collapse into hysterical laughter, having gotten both son and mother with one practical joke.
Oh, well. It was almost beautiful.