of us and smiled. “Well . . . ?” he asked.
I was as speechless as I’d been when the torso told me I was cute. I searched my brain for something nice I could say convincingly. Looks—no. Personality—no. Think, Jerry, think.
“You seem very happy with him,” I said, finally. Whew, not bad.
“I don’t like him!” Miranda snapped.
“What? Why not?”
Greg was devastated, but rather than retreat, Miranda doubled down. “He’s gross!”
Greg looked at me. “Do you think he’s gross?”
In truth, I thought “gross” was far too mild, but I couldn’t say that. “He’s . . . not someone I would be interested in myself.”
“Great, so you all think he’s disgusting. Thanks for your support!” Greg stormed off. It was the last we saw of him that night.
A little while later, I returned to the hotel, disheartened and exhausted. As I passed by the business lounge, I realized there was something inside that might cheer me up: my emails. Though I could barely keep my eyes open, I logged into my Yahoo account.
I’d never seen so many messages in my life, without half of them being for cheap V_1AGRA. The “HOLY SHIT!”s were off the charts. I even earned a few “OH MY FUCKING GOD”s, which is like a prankster’s Pulitzer. My friends’ euphoria burst from the screen with every word.
“This is the best news of the year! I have a smile a mile wide.”
“Wowee, I can’t be more excited for you guys!”
One buddy offered his sister as a translator. (She’d minored in Chinese at college.) Another said that Fu-Ling kind of looked like Drew.
It was just what I’d been hoping for—until I saw the responses that came in after Drew revealed it was a joke.
“Hope you had a fun time with this. Know you made me feel like an idiot!”
“Please tell Jerry that I fully CRIED!!! You guys are dicks.”
“I don’t think this is funny.”
“You a**hole.”
It was hard to gauge people’s tone from responses like these. I wanted to believe they reacted out of bemused appreciation, but I couldn’t be sure, especially when I saw this note from Drew: “You need to call Pam and apologize. She says she’s never talking to you again.”
I decided to call my friend Adam, the one who had gushed so delightfully on voice mail. He was a great friend and a good sport. His reaction would be fair.
I remember two quotes distinctly from that phone call. One was “I will never be happy for you again.” The other was “Everyone is going to hate you for the rest of time.”
If one thing was clear, it was that people loved the idea of Drew and me having a family. People weren’t upset because they’d been fooled. They were upset because they wanted so badly for my news to be true.
I realized I’d broken one of the golden rules of pranksters: never prank the things you dream about, because when you’re done, all you’re left with is the realization that they were just a joke. We weren’t going to China, we weren’t visiting an orphanage, and we weren’t going to have a sweet little girl falling asleep in our laps on the plane ride home. Man, that would have been incredible.
By the next morning, at least one person had forgiven me. Greg was disappointed that we didn’t give Sex a more positive review, but he rejoined our group for our airboat tour of the bayou. Soon, we were joking like we always did. I think we both knew the Sex thing was fleeting. What we had with each other went much deeper.
As time passed, most of my friends grew to have at least a grudging appreciation for my prank. I even got a few delayed compliments on pulling it off. Everyone else just stopped bringing it up.
Then, months later, a shocking story hit the entertainment world. A former American Idol contestant, Corey Clark, was claiming that he and Paula Abdul had been having an affair, and that was the real reason he had been kicked off the show two years ago. Drew called me instantly when he saw it, speechless.
That’s the
I was as speechless as I’d been when the torso told me I was cute. I searched my brain for something nice I could say convincingly. Looks—no. Personality—no. Think, Jerry, think.
“You seem very happy with him,” I said, finally. Whew, not bad.
“I don’t like him!” Miranda snapped.
“What? Why not?”
Greg was devastated, but rather than retreat, Miranda doubled down. “He’s gross!”
Greg looked at me. “Do you think he’s gross?”
In truth, I thought “gross” was far too mild, but I couldn’t say that. “He’s . . . not someone I would be interested in myself.”
“Great, so you all think he’s disgusting. Thanks for your support!” Greg stormed off. It was the last we saw of him that night.
A little while later, I returned to the hotel, disheartened and exhausted. As I passed by the business lounge, I realized there was something inside that might cheer me up: my emails. Though I could barely keep my eyes open, I logged into my Yahoo account.
I’d never seen so many messages in my life, without half of them being for cheap V_1AGRA. The “HOLY SHIT!”s were off the charts. I even earned a few “OH MY FUCKING GOD”s, which is like a prankster’s Pulitzer. My friends’ euphoria burst from the screen with every word.
“This is the best news of the year! I have a smile a mile wide.”
“Wowee, I can’t be more excited for you guys!”
One buddy offered his sister as a translator. (She’d minored in Chinese at college.) Another said that Fu-Ling kind of looked like Drew.
It was just what I’d been hoping for—until I saw the responses that came in after Drew revealed it was a joke.
“Hope you had a fun time with this. Know you made me feel like an idiot!”
“Please tell Jerry that I fully CRIED!!! You guys are dicks.”
“I don’t think this is funny.”
“You a**hole.”
It was hard to gauge people’s tone from responses like these. I wanted to believe they reacted out of bemused appreciation, but I couldn’t be sure, especially when I saw this note from Drew: “You need to call Pam and apologize. She says she’s never talking to you again.”
I decided to call my friend Adam, the one who had gushed so delightfully on voice mail. He was a great friend and a good sport. His reaction would be fair.
I remember two quotes distinctly from that phone call. One was “I will never be happy for you again.” The other was “Everyone is going to hate you for the rest of time.”
If one thing was clear, it was that people loved the idea of Drew and me having a family. People weren’t upset because they’d been fooled. They were upset because they wanted so badly for my news to be true.
I realized I’d broken one of the golden rules of pranksters: never prank the things you dream about, because when you’re done, all you’re left with is the realization that they were just a joke. We weren’t going to China, we weren’t visiting an orphanage, and we weren’t going to have a sweet little girl falling asleep in our laps on the plane ride home. Man, that would have been incredible.
By the next morning, at least one person had forgiven me. Greg was disappointed that we didn’t give Sex a more positive review, but he rejoined our group for our airboat tour of the bayou. Soon, we were joking like we always did. I think we both knew the Sex thing was fleeting. What we had with each other went much deeper.
As time passed, most of my friends grew to have at least a grudging appreciation for my prank. I even got a few delayed compliments on pulling it off. Everyone else just stopped bringing it up.
Then, months later, a shocking story hit the entertainment world. A former American Idol contestant, Corey Clark, was claiming that he and Paula Abdul had been having an affair, and that was the real reason he had been kicked off the show two years ago. Drew called me instantly when he saw it, speechless.
That’s the
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