April Fools

Well, I know I'm a couple of days late to be posting anything timely about April Fool's Day, but since it's my blog (well, mine and Sr. Pants) I can do what I want, and you can't stop me. Did you want to stop me? Because, well, that's really too bad.
This was a pretty lame April Fools. A girl at my work changed all of our nameplates around. Wacky. At least she made the effort-- it's not like the rest of us did jack, so I have no room to judge here. That was it, though. I was on my toes all day, too, but for nothing. I still feel like I'm too new at this office to be playing around on days like April Fools.
Question: When is it "April Fool's" and when is it "April Fools?" Because the last thing I would want to do is promulgate bad grammar on this blog.
So, this "holiday" always reminds me of a horribly formative experience I had when I was 5, on THE VERY DAY. I was always a chocolate freak, and a little gullible to boot. One day, a girl in my class brought a tray of yummalicious brownies to school for the class to share. I should have been suspicious right then, but I was 5, and still had on the rose-colored glasses and whatnot, and had yet to arm myself with my cloak of distrust and pessimism. So, I ate a brownie. Then I ate another brownie. Then, I ate the brownie of a kid sitting across the table from me, who had foolhardily elected not to finish his tasty snacklet.
Then's when it got gross. I burped and tasted a tantalizingly familiar taste; what could it be? What the hell was that grossness? That little bitch put SOAP in the BROWNIES. With her MOTHER'S HELP. May I ask you, what kind of crazy mother helps her child play a joke like that on a kindergarten class? The trick was especially insidious because the chocolate covered up the taste of the soap until you finished eating; then, the strange aftertaste ran up and kicked you in the mouth.
Children were running around, bumping into each other and screaming. Parents were called. A teacher frantically ran to the store to get a giant economy-size bag of oranges for us to eat to try to get that taste out of our mouths. When my mother came to pick me up three hours later, she surveyed her daughter, bubbling at the mouth and covered in orange pulp, and said "Well, there goes that outfit."
I think she called the school the next day to ask who the hell thought that was a good idea.
Of course, these days that would never happen. You can't just bring crap from home for other kids in the class to eat while you stand in the corner and snicker. I don't know if that's a positive development or not, really. I mean, I definitely learned a lesson that day-- don't trust goddamned kindergarteners. They're sneaky little bastards.
-- Girlie