Once upon a time April fool's was a great production of coloured paper and scissors and tape and crayons, cutting out and decorating the famous "Poissons D'Avril" and taping them to each others' backs as though they were great colourful kick me signs.
French customs appeared here and there in the moroccan elementary school I went to, as this or that teacher showed their rural Provence roots.
In Lyon, our fish were electronic and gadgety, tributes to our engineering magic.
In Paris, there were no fish, or bad jokes or comic book crossovers or gag gifts or toilet-papered computers.
Here, in Toronto, there are no comic book crossovers or gag gifts, there was one post-it note incident leftover from last night and I was starting to feel a little grown-up and unable to smell the fairy-dust until
My boss told me he saw me picking me nose on the concealed security camera above my desk.
Given that I'm the one who sets surveillance policy, mans the surveillance hardware and software, and gets all, uh, "stuff" relating to other "stuff" (that I can't talk about) around here, he did a pretty good job convincing me that the, uh, thingie in the wall above my desk was actually an entirely other thingie.
I countered with, uh, something confidential.
Both of which are relatively lame and stodgy, but still a healthy step up from the "too old for pranks" I thought had snuck up on me unawares.