WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE . . .

It started so innocuously and with the purest of intentions. J2 would be returning from the honeymoon in Aruba at 10pm Tuesday night, so a few of us diehards decided to tidy up their new place a little, leave them some food and flowers, and generally make their transition back to the real world a little gentler.

But oh, how quickly we regress. The horrible sequence of events . . .

Monday
. . . Banana, Soy and I have a fevered e-conversation about the wonders of the Swiffer (wet and dry). JW has no idea what we're talking about, so we enlighten him.
. . . JW promptly goes out to purchase said Swiffer, in starter pack form, which includes the Swiffer mop, several dry sheets and several wet sheets. JW insists that he has surface area in his teeny dorm-suite upon which to Swiff, but I am doubtful. Banana says that JW is the perfect consumer. I agree. I'm going to tell him about this particular handbag I've been coveting and we'll see if he buys it for me . . .
. . . Banana, Soy, JW, JC and I agree to meet around the general area of 7pm on Tuesday evening to begin our altruistic service to our beloved friends.

Tuesday, 5:10pm
. . . I decide to stop by Williams-Sonoma (heaven on earth, after Barnes & Noble) to pick up my standard housewarming gift, but am quickly distracted . . . by the Bandolino store across the way.
. . . I buy a pair of shoes. The pair that I've been hunting for nationwide for the last month. I am sated.
. . . But back to J2 . . . rush rush rush through W-S, rush rush rush to JW's place (where he hops into my car hugging his precious new Swiffer starter pack) . . . rush rush rush to J2's apartment.

Tuesday, 7pm
. . . the place is a disaster area, a war zone, a crime scene, a horrific sight to behold. We don't know where to start. We can't see the floor. Boxes, clothing, bridal underskirts, papers, RSVP cards, receipts from 1992, JKo's teaching paraphernelia, JAhn's military fetish paraphernelia (including a large gilt sword and G.I. Joe cards), approximately 300 leftover wedding programs, wedding gifts, staplers, scissors, ribbons, etc. We are inundated. I want to flee.
. . . JW starts shoving boxes into the two closets in the apartment. I think it's going to be really funny when J2 come home, see their sparkling living room, open up their closets and realize everything is in there. Oh well.
. . . Soy, Banana and JC arrive and we settle in to eat our Chinese take-out. All's well and good except that we have no utensils. Hence, "We Are Going To Hell Because" Moment #1: we delve into their Crate&Barrel gift boxes, find their shiny new flatware, and use it. Granted, we only bust open two of the eight settings, and use an assortment of salad forks, teaspoons, regular forks and soup spoons to eat our dinner, but . . . we're going to hell anyway.
. . . After washing and replacing the flatware -- as if nothing ever happened -- we resume cleaning. Shove some boxes into this closet, wipe down that counter, stock their fridge, draw a nice "Welcome Home" poster, arrange a bouquet of flowers, sprinkle rose petals on the bed, let JW gleefully dry-and-wet Swiffer the floors. We're being so mature and nice. For now.

Tuesday, approx. 9:30pm
. . . We have degenerated into juvenility. Now that everything's clean, we're bored. There's nothing left to do but . . . vandalize the place and leave our own special mark on their home. Tee-hee.
. . . First come the signs: on the ugly bedsheet-qua-temporary-curtain = "REPLACE ME;" on the wedding gown hanging in its bag = "HELP! DRY-CLEAN ME!;" on the staticky 3-channels-only 12" television = "PLEASE HOOK ME UP;" on the closet doors = "DANGER. DO NOT OPEN;" on the food left in the fridge = "EAT ME;" on the first-dance steps written down so JAhn doesn't forget them = "LEARN ME AGAIN;" on the empty display cabinet's doors = "I FEEL SO EMPTY INSIDE;" on the floors = "SWIFFERED WITH LOVE, BY JW;" on the huge black-lacquer-rimmed mirror which reeks of the 1950s in the Motherland = "I'M TACKY." It just goes on and on.
. . . Then come the iZone sticky-pics. Banana takes glamour shots of us all. Most of them innocently end up on our "Welcome Home" poster. Two of them get special places of honor: inside the fridge and on the back wall of the medicine cabinet. A little surprise for later, you see.
. . . Then come the bedroom maneuvers that will make JKo blush and cause JAhn to run for his camera: the feather boa from the bachelorette party draped over JKo's side of the bed; the Indian headress from the bachelor party draped over JAhn's side of the bed. And smack in the middle? A pair of glow-in-the-dark handcuffs, and a book entitled "Newlyweds' Guide to Sex on the First Night" (even though it's not their first night . . . I hope). And a cigar. Our work is done here, we think.

Tuesday, 10:30pm
. . . We heard they were to land at 10pm. This means they could be rolling up to their front door in a few minutes, so we call American Airlines to verify. Thankfully, the flight is delayed -- they won't be landing until nearly 11pm -- so we have a bit of time to . . . eat Edy's espresso chip ice cream.
. . . "We're Going To Hell Because" Moment #2: can't eat ice cream with our fingers, so we reopen the shiny Crate&Barrel flatware again. Unable to bear the thought of opening several settings, we decide we can share one. JW uses a knife ("it's like eating gelato," he says); I use the salad fork (good for culling out the dreaded chocolate chips); Soy dives right for the appropriate dessert spoon; Banana and JC fight over the humongous soup spoon, with Banana ending up with it and JC being relegated to the dinner fork, which leaves long delicious grooves in the ice cream itself. You'll be glad to know that we ate right out of the container. It would have been wrong to open up their dinnerware to look for bowls.

Tuesday, 11pm
. . . Ice cream is finished, flatware is repackaged, half-eaten ice cream is replaced in the freezer. Now we're officially still bored. We can't find any more surfaces to stick obnoxious signs to. We can't find anymore food to half-eat. We can't find anymore things to clean. We don't think we want to stick around until they arrive home. But we still want to hang out and have some fun. What is the Bucket Brigade to do?!
. . . "We're Going To Hell Because" Moment #3: we (collectively, despite the vehement denials of some) decide to plastic-wrap the toilet. Soy first suggests it, then demurs, then instructs us "if you're going to do it, make sure you pull it REALLY TIGHT, or else it won't work." It seems she has some expertise in this area.
. . . JW and JC struggle with the gross toilet bowl (hey, if it ain't our toilet bowl, we ain't cleaning it) for a few minutes before magnificently stretching the plastic wrap really tightly across the bowl. There is much hysterical and slightly guilt-ridden giggling.
. . . To maximize the traumatic effect and to minimize early detection, JC loosens the lightbulbs in the bathroom so there is no reflection off the plastic wrap. We have officially become, as Banana would say, Admirals' Club members on the flight to Hell. So be it.

Tuesday, 11:30pm
. . . To temper the effect of our evil ways, we put a romantic CD on repeat, leave the air-conditioning on low, turn off the lights, lock the door and make our way home. WELCOME HOME, J2.

Wednesday morning update
. . . Sleepy after a night of guilty tossing and turning ("Oh my gawd, what if the pee spatter really makes a big mess?" and "What if the boxes fall on them when they open the closet doors?" and "What if they feel violated that we were in their apartment rummaging around?" and "What if they're totally grossed out by all the half-eaten food in the fridge?"), I trudge into work and hear from Soy that contact with J2 has been made.
. . . A quick check of my cell phone reveals that JKo has indeed attempted to call me. With more than a little trepidation, I call her back.
. . . THEY LOVED IT! They loved the food (warmed it up for breakfast this morning), loved the bedroom maneuvers (JAhn did indeed run for his camera to capture the tableau), loved the flowers, loved the signs (and as predicted, JKo insists she's going to keep them up until Christmas), loved the surprise photos ("What is JC's head doing in my fridge?"), loved the Swiffer job, loved that everything was shoved into closets ("yeah, we're still looking for stuff") and even managed to find the plastic wrap funny ("except I peed on myself . . . thank goodness I was able to stop the flow in time" she says).

Another nefarious job well done . . .