The Ice Breaker

The criminal act started by doing family members a small favor. We opened up our house, agreeing to store possessions in our double garage until an in law’s custom-built house finished construction. One fateful day, curiosity got the best of my law-abiding wife. In the corner of the garage, I found her rummaging through the stored cardboard boxes belonging to her younger sister. In what became confused as a treasure hunt, my wife came across a sleek looking ice bucket with black handled tongs. I got to admit that its shine would have blinded Ali Baba and at least thirty nine of the forty thieves. I am not without implication here for we both naughtily conspired to borrow the ice bucket and add it to the décor of our bar.

The day of the in-laws move arrived and their ice bucket never made it to the new homestead. It would have made an excellent house-warming gift under different circumstances by less thieving kin. Watching the search for the missing ice bucket provided so much fun that it had to be wrong on multiple levels. Guilt almost entered into the equation in between chuckles.

“I know we have an ice bucket.” complained the crime victim to her miffed husband.

“Where could it have gotten to?” he questioned. “Have you seen it, honey?”

Sadistically, I broke out that ice bucket for every family function. It looked strangely familiar to them but reassurance about its proprietorship convinced them otherwise. Like Dick and Jane, my wife and I would share sinister glimmers as everyone would party hearty around our centerpiece, the adopted ice bucket. Talk about a real ice breaker for parties.

We watched my brother–in law scramble at parties of his own trying to cool body temperatures and tepid beverages without an ice bucket. It cruelly added to the excitement. I got to admit that I came home and polished the ice bucket once after one of his parties. Aladdin’s lamp it became.

It was a stone cold hoot when the in-laws called US to borrow THEIR ice bucket for a get together. Eventually, we let other family members in on the dirty little secret. Being an ornery soul, I often encouraged other family members when planning parties, to call the crime victims asking if they could borrow an ice bucket. The charade grew accomplices. It took a couple of years for my in-laws to become wise to what happened. Once they caught on to the ruse, my wife and I were labeled sticky fingered thieves. Ice cubes may chill my bones but names will never hurt me.

Call it the spirit of the holiday season but we offered the ice bucket back to the rightful owners one Christmas. Wouldn’t you know that the sticklers refused to accept it back? They already bought a replacement ice bucket and had no need for reclaiming the tarnished goods. By default, the stolen ice bucket finally became our personal property. I got to admit that it just doesn’t feel or taste the same.