I Don't Do April Fools

© 2024 Duleigh Lawrence-Townshend. All rights reserved. The author asserts the right to be identified as the author of this story for all portions. All characters are original. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. This story or any part thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expressed written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review or commentary.

This story was written for the April Fools Day Story Contest 2024. Any similarity between any character in this story and any person in real life is merely coincidental. Except for Ambassador G'Nkqp, that was intentional. He's been begging me to write him into a story for two years.

I Don't Do April Fools

A Personal Journey

Nancy Allen was a smart, adventurous woman in her early thirties. She was a computer networking genius, a Colorado snow bunny, a cheerful prankster, and she preferred to be called Honey. She was a five foot four inch tall fireball with dark blond hair, blue eyes, with a narrow waist and round hips. Honey had beautiful breasts, but most people noticed the tiny birth mark just to the right of her full red lips long before they noticed her breasts. At school, she was accused by her classmates of having communicable skin diseases when she was a child, but the mark was just a mole. Her grandpa called her Honey West after a 1960s TV character who had a similar "beauty mark."

She was teased mercilessly in school and after a day of teasing from the brutal 5th grade girls; she came home in tears. "Don't you let them get under your skin," said Grandpa. "That mark tells the whole world that your grandpa loves you and thinks you're perfect in every way."

After drying her tears and sending her off with a bowl of freshly cut fruit, Honey settled down in the living room to watch wrestling, but she heard her grandparents talking. "That's not going to stop her from getting teased," said Grandma.

"She's going to get teased," said Grandpa. "I just want her to realize that it's not because of her, it's because of them."

"She wants to have it removed," said Grandma. "She thinks her mole makes her an outcast."

"I know bullies," said Grandpa. "If she got it removed, they'll just find something else to pick on her about. It's a never ending cycle. She needs to realize that it's not her, it's them. They're just jealous, hate filled little brats whose mothers don't even know who their father is."

"James Madison Allen! You can't be talking about people like that."

It didn't matter if he could talk about people like that or not, Honey heard him and went to school armed with knowledge to her harassers' backgrounds. After lunch was recess, a chance to go outside and get some fresh air and burn off energy, but for Honey, it meant being taunted and teased by Olivia Spoth and her gang. Olivia was tall, almost five foot ten, with long red hair and a tribe of followers. She saw Honey and started immediately. "Moldy Nancy! Moldy Nancy! When's your face going to rot off?"

"Leave me alone," said Honey.

"Did you get that from a rat bite? Or was it radiation?" taunted Olivia.

"It means that my grandpa loves me and nothing else," said Honey.

"He just said that because Moldy Nancy was crying," said Olivia and with fists rubbing her eyes, she imitated a baby crying.

"You're just jealous because my mother knows who my father is, and you can't say the same thing."

That must have touched a nerve. "You can't talk about my mother that way," and Olive gave Honey a slap across the face. Rather than running off and crying, the only thing that came to Honey's mind was "What would The Rock do?" and the fight was on. It took four nuns to pull the wrestling, punching girls apart, and Sister Ann Rita, a junior nun, was assigned to see to Honey.

"She hit me first!" demanded Honey.

"I know, I saw the whole thing, and a poorer display of pugilism I've never seen," said Sister Ann Rita. She might as well be speaking Martian, because her Irish accent was alien lingo in residential Thornton, Colorado.

"My grandpa said that they're never going to stop teasing me."

"The way you fight, I can see why," said Sister Ann Rita as she cleaned a scrape on Honey's cheek. "Girl, ye got to keep your hands up, protect your face." She took Honey's hands in hers, formed them into fists, and held them up high, protecting her face. "Oi grew up with seven brothers, I know a bit about fighting. Now what started this?"

"I don't know," Honey shrugged. "My grandfather says her mother doesn't know who..."

"Tut tut tut! I heard enough young lady. That will start a fight good and sure. You know how to start a fight, but do ya know how to end a fight? Hmm? You tell that grandfather of yours to put his money where your mouth is and get you some boxing lessons."

Honey told her grandfather, who immediately enrolled her in karate lessons and by the time she went to college she had a brown belt and Olive Spoth was long forgotten. She became a strong, self-confident woman, a network engineer with Adelphia, and unlike most of her colleagues, she had a wicked sense of humor that she inherited from her grandfather.

April Fools was Honey's number one Holy Day of obligation. She had hundreds of pranks that were sure-fire April Fool's gold and Honey had hundreds of uses for clear nail polish. It was her weapon of choice. Her pal Lester watched in awe as she first poured some clear nail polish on a piece of wax paper, then painted a bar of soap with the nail polish.

"Ok," said Honey as she explained her favorite prank. "If someone leaves their computer unsecured, you take a screenshot of their desktop, then you set the screen shot as their desktop wallpaper. The clincher is when you set windows to hide all icons and shortcuts on the desktop and hide the task bar."

"What happens?"

Honey grinned. "Then nothing works, he'll try to click on the short cuts, even the start button and nothing will work. When he thinks he's clicking on his start button, he'll just be clicking on his wallpaper." Honey took her hair dryer and blew it on her bar of soap to get the clear nail polish dry.

"That's just evil, I love it! I love what you're doing with the soap too. But what's with the wax paper?" Lester was definitely going to try some of these pranks on his boyfriend.

Honey's blow drier soon had the nail polish on the soap dry so she could flip it over and coat the bottom. "The wax paper? That's my favorite." She peeled the dried puddle of nail polish from the wax paper and held it up. "You know how Dex loves his laptop? When he gets back from break, he's going to find a spill on his laptop." She laid the puddle back down and glued an empty polish bottle to it horizontally. It looked like the bottle spilled and left that puddle. Dexter was going to shit!

"Oh, he's going to die!" Lester was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. Dexter is a nerd among nerds. He probably tosses off to R rated anime, and he loves his laptop. It's an Acer 21X Predator, a big machine with a huge, 21 inch curved display.

"And the soap?"

"The soap is for Arnold." Arnold Morse was her boyfriend, but Lester calls him Carey, as in Carey Grant. He's tall, slim, and handsome with jet black hair, a square chin, a straight nose and a smile that moistens panties throughout the Denver area. And to top it off, he has a slight British accent. Unfortunately (for Lester) he's straight. For Honey, he's perfect in every way except for one big item. He doesn't do April Fool's Day. He hates April Fool's day, but Honey intends to break him of that bad habit.

"What else do you have for him?" asked Lester, as Honey started the second coat of clear nail polish on the bar of soap.

She tossed a few Trojan Magnum XL condoms on the table. The Trojan Magnum XL is the largest condom made by Trojan. "I was going to toss a few of these on the nightstand."

"Trying to make him jealous?"

"No, probably not. That's his size anyhow," said Honey as Lester's jaw dropped in shock and envy.

"Now you're making ME jealous."

She added some more polish to her laptop puddle. "Check this out," and she showed Lester some clear plastic tubes about three inches long.

"What's that for?"

She produced Arnold's bottle of three in one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, slipped a plastic tube over the spout of the bottle and began blowing it with her hair drier. The plastic tube shrank tight to the spout of the bottle and was soon invisible. "Now he'll have to use the soap," she said with a grin.

"Girl, that is so devious! I should be taking notes."

"Take good notes," she said as she gave the heat shrink treatment to his toothbrush and toothpaste. "I need to get the house set up," she said as she grabbed his toiletries. "He's coming in a few minutes to take me out. We're going to dinner then up to his place in Breckenridge tonight and ski all day and hot tub all night." She glanced around and whispered, "I think he's going to pop the question!"

"Girl! I'm so happy for you!" said Les, as he gave her a hug. "Now if you can get him to crack a joke on occasion..."

"Here," she said as she put the puddle she made in a small Pizza Hut box. "In case I don't get back on Monday, you do Dexters laptop."

"I would be honored," gushed Les.

"I have to go get dressed," and Honey headed back to the bedroom. Moments later, Arnold Morse came in the front door of her apartment.

"How are you doing today Lester?" said Arnold cheerfully as they shook hands. "You look wonderful."

Was he being sarcastic? thought Les. Arnold was wearing an immaculately tailored gray suit that probably cost more than what Les makes in a year. His brightly colored silk tie probably equaled a week's pay. Brimming with jealousy, Les said, "I'm fine, Honey and I were getting some of her April Fool's Day pranks ready for the big day on Monday."

"Ah yes, Honey and her pranks. Maybe she will pull one on me some day, eh?" chuckled Arnold. Actually, Honey pulled pranks on Arnold all the time. He just doesn't get them.

"I don't know," said Les. "She's really crazy for you, she doesn't want you running off."

"Aww, I'm going nowhere Les, you can tell her that for me."

"No problem," Les was shocked at how much Arnold sounded like Cary Grant.

"Ok, I'm ready!" gushed Honey as she stepped out from her bedroom into the living room. She was wearing an emerald green long sleeve cocktail midi dress with a plunging neckline that playfully showed off her cleavage. As Honey came up to Arnold, and he drew her in for a kiss. She craned her head back, and he leaned over and they kissed long and sweet, their tongues gently touching.

Finally, they broke the kiss and Arnold stepped back and sighed. "That was simply wonderful. Those are kisses a man lives for."

"Let's go find something that a woman lives for," said Honey in a growling voice that left no one with a guess of what was on her mind. Arnold picked up her overnight bag and snowboarding boots and she carried her purse and makeup bag out.

"Take good care of A'Tuin!" Honey called out to Les as they left.

"I will, have fun." Les was cat sitting Honey's eight-year-old long hair tortoise-shell cat named A'Tuin who, unlike his namesake, never had an elephant stand on his back.

Out in the snow lined parking lot Arnold led Honey to his car. "Is this it?" squealed Honey.

"Yes ma'am! It finally arrived." His car was a majestic work of art, a brand new Maserati MC20 Cielo Spider. It was a two door aquamarine rocket with a "gulping guppy" grill, forged spoke wheels, gloss blue brake calipers, and tinted windows that barely met Colorado standards. The 3.0 liter V6 engine, with twin turbos, pumped out 621 HP and could reach 60 MPH in three seconds with a top speed of 202 mph. Inside it was a marvel of electronics with dual ten inch digital displays.

He opened the rear hood and showed her that the "boot" had barely enough space for her overnight bag and makeup case. "It gets warm in here, let's put your makeup case in the front," he said, then opening the front hood, he placed the makeup case in the tiny space available up front. Arnold opened the butterfly door, and she eased her divine ass into the heated leather seat. Joining her in the car, he pressed the start button on the steering wheel and the engine rumbled to life.

Arnold had to wait eleven months for his new Maserati, and he was proud of it. He goosed the gas pedal, and the V6 roared. The sound of that monster's bellow echoed off the surrounding apartment buildings. He gave her a playful wink, dropped it in gear, and eased out of the parking lot. A deep throated purr escaped the exhaust pipes as they pulled on to Arapahoe Road, then became a bellow as Arnold brought her up to traffic speed. "What do you think?" he asked.

"Does it have a roof?"

"Oh, sorry." He slowed down to 30 mph and, with a touch of a button, the back of the car opened, and the glass roof swung out and landed in place. She watched in awe as a touch of a button turned the glass roof an opaque gray that matched the interior leather upholstery. Another touch turned it transparent.

"I didn't expect you could afford something like this on your airport salary," said Honey.

"I don't work for the Airport Authority. I work for another interested organization," he said with a smile. He probably said too much, but she was going to find out someday.

"What do you do?" she asked for the hundredth time.

This time he answered, "my job is best described as a concierge. I facilitate meetings and gatherings, occasionally I arrange rooms for VIPs who need to remain overnight during a long meeting and that's as far as I'll go."

"So you introduce the aliens to the humans?" grinned Honey. There's a standing conspiracy theory that Denver Airport is a spaceport that caters to aliens of all races and species.

"You are a bright woman Honey, you would fit in with the Reptilians." He sounded like he was kidding.

"Do they have any openings?" she asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Let's talk about that later," he grinned and swung on to I-25 northward. They roared up I-25, dodging through the winter traffic, the Maserati drawing stares from the other drivers as they sailed along. He turned off I-25 on to US 6, where they headed west.

"Where are we going? Golden?" asked Honey.

"Breckenridge," smiled Arnold, and they proceeded directly to Golden.

"I'll take your word for it," she said, and they soon rolled into the north end of Golden at the base of the Front Range. But then Arnold followed US 6 up past Golden and into the mountains. "I love this drive," said Arnold. "There's nothing like it in England. You have to go to France to see something like it."

Honey sighed. He spoke of traveling to France, Italy, Switzerland, Germany, and Spain like they were easy to get to. Weekends in Greece, running naked on the beach in Spain, spending a three-day weekend in Egypt... Honey never thought of herself as a traveler, but it would be nice to see those places. So far she's seen Colorado and Ft. Lauderdale (but she doesn't remember much of Spring Break).

Soon they were heading up the Clear Creek Canyon, the road weaving and following the snow and ice covered creek. US 6 in this canyon used to be a railroad roadbed, so the climb was easy, never exceeding 2% and the curves were gentle and just begged for a supercar. Sheer mountain walls grew up on either side of them and as they passed through each of the six tunnels, Arnold floored the Maserati and that V6 bellowed in delight as he unleashed all six hundred horses. The ride was smooth and beautiful; the mountains were breathtaking as they grew taller and more majestic as they traveled deeper into the front range. Soon they rejoined I-70 and were racing past Idaho Springs, then the road curved south, following Clear Creek past Empire Colorado. Now the mountains were taller, more menacing, and they were heading up.

"If I had grown up here in Idaho Springs or Empire or Georgetown I would have spent every summer in a cast," said Arnold. "I love climbing mountains. I'm just not very good at it." The climb became steep, and they sailed past slow-moving trucks in the right-hand lane and eventually they were at the Eisenhower Tunnel. These were the highest vehicle tunnels in the United States and the longest vehicle tunnel. At 1.7 miles long, he could let that Maserati sing as loud as it wanted. Honey's ears were ringing when they exited the tunnel.

Following the steep plunge from 11,000 feet to Silverthorn, they turned and headed south through Frisco. He pulled up in front of a building that looked like an old-fashioned western building that could have been anything, a warehouse or a small factory. The lower floor was a bookstore, but Arnold led her upstairs to a beautiful, intimate restaurant. "Oh my," she gasped. She's been in and out of Frisco her entire life. She's even bought books in the Next Page bookstore downstairs, and never knew that a restaurant existed in the building.

"Monsieur Morse!" gushed the maitre'd with genuine affection.

"Claude, I thought we've been over this," said Arnold with a smile as he handed his overcoat to the coat check and took Honey's coat.

"Yes, Arnold. I know, but the owner has expectations. Is this Miss Allen?"

"Claude Deveraux, this is Nancy Allen, the woman that owns my heart."

"Call me Honey," said Nancy. "I prefer it."

"Honey it is, and Mister... uh Arnold, your table is ready," and he led them to an intimate table with candlelight and fabulous China. As they walked to the table, several people said hello to Arnold. Honey was sure that one of them was the governor.

They sat and Arnold said, "do you mind if I order for you?"

Feeling adventurous, Honey said, "Please do Mister Morse."

When the waiter came, Arnold ordered in French, so Honey didn't know what he was ordering. When he was done, he smiled and said, "Whenever possible, meals should be ordered in French."

"Why?"

"Well, what would you prefer to have, nouilles et fromage, or mac and cheese?"

"You make a valid point." Soon she was presented with a bowl of linguini and clams in white wine cream sauce. Her absolute favorite meal. "I had no idea you were ordering it!" she gasped.

"That's the power of the French language. No one understands it except the French," Arnold chuckled. His dinner was the lamb shank with parmesan risotto and a vegetable medley. They ate and sipped an absolutely perfect wine and as she talked about the pranks she planned to play on her coworkers on Monday morning, Arnold fell deeper and deeper in love with Honey. Her dancing blue eyes enchanted him, her laugh called out to his heart, and he hoped that when the time comes, she says yes.

"That was perfect," said Honey as they left the restaurant, and the valet brought the car to them.

"How many miles did you put on it, Juan?" Arnold asked the valet.

"Not as many as usual, these things bog down in the snow off road," said the young fellow with a wink. Arnold tipped him handsomely and, getting in the car, he saw that the odometer had barely crawled up a tenth of a mile. "He's a good lad," he muttered.

"Where now?" asked Honey. "A nice little cabin in the woods with a crackling fire and maybe a bear skin rug?"

"I was thinking of a high-end hotel room with steam bath and hot tub, but, let's compromise."

"Let's do!" the linguini and clams did their magic on Honey, and she was ready for anything, from jogging nude in the snow to a long nap. As they neared Breckenridge, they turned off the main highway and followed a gravel road up the mountain. It was dark when they left the restaurant and Honey couldn't see where they were going, but the lights on the Maserati lit the mountain like daylight. They eventually pulled up to a large log and stone construction house that Honey would call a mansion. "Mansion? No, it's my house."