Michigan Trip - Just a Little Prank

Table of Contents for Michigan Trip Series:

1. Michigan Trip - 1st Morning on the Beach
2. Michigan Trip - Family Faces
3. Michigan Trip - Fish Faces
4. Michigan Trip - Tour of Homes
5. Michigan Trip - Are you the Beimfohr's
6. Michigan Trip - Sunsets
7. Michigan Trip - The Lake
8. Michigan Trip - A Bunch of Photographers

While in Michigan it was re-established that I am the "princess" of this side of the family.

I am the only granddaughter. I am the only niece. I am spoiled rotten. Blame my grandparents; they gave me the nickname.

Aunt Sally bought me a door hanger that declares, "SHHHHH . . . the princess is sleeping."

When the group was trying to make decisions, people started jokingly saying, "Where does the princess want to eat?"

I would laugh it off . . . and then pick where I wanted to eat at. I'm not stupid.

One morning Danny and I were sitting enjoying the beach with Phil and Jo.

Jo pointed out to us where Uncle Rik was sitting farther down the beach by the water. "He's ignoring us. We've been yelling and waving at him all morning."

And on that cue, Phil stood up and screamed "RIIIIIIKKKKKK!!!!!" at the top of his lungs multiple times.

Uncle Rik didn't even lift an eye lash.

So, the four of us went back to talking.

Pretty soon we noticed that Uncle Rik was walking along the waterline.

"Some should take his chair . . . or his towel . . . or all of his stuff." Phil suggested.

We looked at Danny. "GO!" Jo and I prodded Danny.

But Danny wasn't budging. "I'm not going to steal his stuff. I've heard stories, and I'm not going to make him mad at me."

Jo and I urged Danny some more, but he wasn't budging. In fact, he just pretended to read his book.

Suddenly, Jo turned to me, "You go. He won't get mad at the princess."

Oh bother. Really?

We watched Uncle Rik continue down the beach, away from his unguarded towel and towards the pier.

"If he gets far enough away, I'll steal his chair." I said.

He kept walking, and I took off. I tore across the beach, grabbed his chair, looked up and realized that my foot prints led straight back to where we all were sitting. It was a dead giveaway.

So, I ran back a different direction. I thought about running in zigzags, but had too much pride to look that dumb.

Winded, I arrived back to the bench where Phil, Jo and Danny were roaring in laughter.

We plopped that pink chair down by us and began waiting.

Pretty soon we could see Uncle Rik making his way back from the pier. We sat, anxiously anticipating the moment he would realize that something was missiong.

I watched through my not-so-zoom camera lens.

"Has he seen it yet?" Jo would ask.

"No, not yet, he's just walking," I would update everyone.

And then he stopped on the beach and stared straight at his towel. He had seen it - or rather - he hadn't seen his chair.

To make matters funnier, a small group had plopped their towels and chairs and beach toys down right in front of where Uncle Rik had been sitting, totally invading his beach space. (There is an unspoken rule at the beach that you don't park it right in front of someone else's view, nor do you get too close. It's beach etiquette.)

Uncle Rik strode right over to the people sitting nearest what was now just his towel and asked where his chair went. Apparently I was so lickety-split fast that hadn't even seen me whisk that chair away while they were setting up camp.

And then Uncle Rik put his hands on his hips and stared up and down the beach for several minutes. I began trembling in fear, and made a mental note not to attend any future family reunions.

Danny, the ever nice nephew, decided that we should move the chair so that it would be in Uncle Rik's line of sight when he walked back to the beach house. However, while Danny was running across the sand and hidding behind trees to plant the stolen chair, another beach goer spotted him and pointed him out to Uncle Rik.

That was the end of our prank, and we all had a very good laugh. Uncle Rik had more of a low chuckle, but allowed the Princess to live and tell the story.