Damien Galeone

At the end of an otherwise normal email to E —ová, I type a short post script.

PS: Let’s get married and have babies.

This statement can be analyzed in several different ways. However, considering that we dated, there might be one way to look at it in particular. You’d think that having dated the likes of me, E would have already completed her time in Purgatory, but alas.

I am celebrating April Fools’ Day and she is my victim.

My finger taps the mouse. In the indescribably brief moment before the arrow clicks on send, I slip into a memory-filled haze of April Fools’ Day pranks gone wrong.

As much as my sense of humor brightens my life and aggravates others on a daily basis, it seems that I really spread my humorous (idiotic) wings on April Fools’ Day. Just as a drinker might glorify St. Patrick’s Day, I really let the bad ideas soar on April Fools.

It is on this day that I am reminded of how bad judgment and the wrong audience usually results in a backfire of epic proportions.

April Fools’ Day 2003: “Mom I’m gay.”

Failure of this prank existed on two levels.

In the first place, there was little to no surprise on the part of my mother. This was followed by a speech on how my parents loved me no matter what and how my happiness was primary. This speech had clearly been prepared at some unknown point in the past.

Insult became injury’s salty companion over the next three months as I continuously declared my heterosexuality in a variety of manners. These included the constant mention of women in my life, a new-found interest in cars and guns, and the removal of the word ‘fabulous’ from my discourse.

My success in this matter remains unclear.

April Fools’ Day 2006 (celebrated April 8^th): I get engaged.

Perhaps in a countermeasure to Gay-Gate 2003, Tereza —ová and I announced our engagement on Facebook in 2006. Our engagement was mutually decided after six beers in the school’s café. The depth of our relationship is best demonstrated in the facts that I spelled her name wrong in the announcement and she called me Damil on her page. We had once taken a tram together to a mutual friend’s party. The closest we had ever come to a physical relationship was when she plucked an old French fry off of my sweater and stepped on my foot in the same ten minute period.

Within forty minutes of this announcement there were roughly 231 comments on my page, my mother had called three times and I got 18 text messages.

Injury being to insult in my life what salt is to pepper, the comments on Facebook ranged from stunned (Really? Oh wow! Good for you Damil…and Tereza) to too truthful (Oh thank God! We were starting to worry about you!).

Tereza broke off the engagement 41 minutes after we posted.

I think about these epic backfires just after I tap the mouse. And in that split second that my occurrence comes and goes, I reconsider sending an email asking a former mate to have babies with me.

But then it goes click.