This is pretty darn funny. Yesterday we went to my parents' house to visit for Mother's Day. Spent about an hour there, when dad suggested we go take a walk to look at a new neighbor's McMansion going up on a lot that used to have a smallish house. I babysat there a time or two when I was a teen.

After nine months, the house is still nothing but timbers and plywood. There's a small stone out-building that's rather old, with a nice pile of rocks in front of it, near the huge dumpster. Good old-fashioned field stone, it was. Dad revealed that we were on a mission from mom. Sure we climbed around inside the house for a few minutes, but on our way out, we had to stop by the pile of rocks to look them over.

We stole a rock. Almost got caught doing so, too. I kid you not. We selected a nice large heavy one to put on the corner of my parents' lawn. All four corner lots at that particular intersection have been nailed lately by errant motor vehicles that cut the corner and drive over the edge of the lawn. The next person to do it will damage their undercarriage, at the very least.

So, yes, we stole a rock. The entire 50 yard walk home, I kept saying "I can't believe we just stole a rock."

On the other hand, it's not as if you can just buy or rent a utility pole to plop in the ground there.