Memories...

So we're having a garage sale. I think I'm getting rid of everything I own. It's all in the name of raising money to go to Africa, of course. But I just had to take a picture of something my parents are selling:


It looks like just a box. Or a sarcophagus. But, no. It's so much more. Inside it rests a ten foot Christmas tree. But that's not the most valuable part. The most valuable part is the memories it holds. See, this box has a long-standing tradition of scaring the poop out of people. I'm not quite sure what started it, but I believe it was along the lines of...

Dad to Mom, secretly: I'm going to hide in the box. Get Shannon to come over there.
Mom, aloud: Shannon, go get me the strand of lights in the Christmas tree box.
Shannon: OK.
Dad, jumping out of the box: Yaaaaa!
Shannon: AUGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

I guess if it would have stayed within the family, we would be a weird family that did weird things but no one knew about them. But, no. We weren't satisfied with only scaring each other every year. (Because we DID manage to scare each other more than once with that stupid box. You'd think we'd have learned. I guess that also says we're kinda slow.) Instead, we began to scare other people. Neighbors. Guests. Boyfriends. The Georgia Mountain Water Guy. Ok, all of them except the last one. Still. How weird are we? Never the less, we had fun. And people still talk about the Christmas tree box and almost wetting their pants from fright. Some Christmas tradition. "Here, you need a diaper with your wassail?"