Driving with my 14-y-old, I see a luscious stand of multi-colored tulips surrounding a mailbox garden:
“Oh, look at those tulips! Gorgeous. Oh, I want those! Tonight, will you come up here in the middle of the night and snip them for me?”
“Yeah, mom, I’ll just drive up…”
“No, they’ll hear you. Walk.”
“Wearing all black. With a scissors.”
“You better paint the scissor blades black, too.”
“And I need something to put the flowers in. You can’t just walk down the street in a ski mask carrying flowers.”
“I have a dark red pillow case! It’ll be the perfect crime. They won’t know what happened. It’s like a weird storm went through or something.”
“Okay, sure, if that’s what you want.”
“Yes! Steal the tulips for me! But. Oh. Wait. What if it’s a little old lady’s house?”
“She’ll be so said when she comes out looking for her mail.”
“Right, seeing her tulips makes her happy everyday. Her tulips are all that she sees that is full of life. They keep her going.”
“But they are stolen. Gone, cut down to the dirt.”
“In her shock and sorrow she has a heart attack, right there in front of her mailbox. Or she loses the will to live and just faints and dies. We can’t take her tulips. Bad idea. DON’T steal the tulips for me!”
“Thinking ruins everything, mom. But, hey, what if we find out a creepy dude and his mean wife live there?”
“Yes, totally, that’s fine. Yes, steal the tulips! But don’t go there alone. Take your brother with you. And if you get caught, don’t tell them about this conversation.”
“What conversation?”