Breaking and entering (into a photo collage)

It was a year in the planning. "You're doing what?" My daughter Savannah asked, her voice cracking with condemnation all the way from Connecticut. I kind of understood her shock. I am, normally, a law-abiding citizen although I do admit to occasionally engaging in brief rampages of rule-breaking. I've spent almost a decade overcoming my spoon-stealing fetish. I was told that when one is seeking to stop a cycle of bad behavior, you must replace it with another action. Want to stop smoking cigarettes? Chew gum. Stop stealing spoons? Filch forks instead. See? Easy!

My friend Sarah (the epitome of good behavior) and I meet several times a year for lunch. Over the years, we've noticed wonderful framed collages of vintage photographs decorating the walls of our restaurant. "Wouldn't it be fun to sneak a picture of us in one of them," someone (I'm sure it was Sarah) suggested. And the game was on.

As any respectable criminal will tell you, the first step to a successful caper is to "case the joint." A discreet peek at the back of the frames revealed layers of dust. No judgment. This just told us that no one ever really pays attention to these decorations (except us). The next step was to assemble a supplies list. A hot glue gun topped the list...Sarah and I are big fans of Pinterest so we knew that this piece of equipment was essential. A box cutter and scotch tape followed. A washcloth "borrowed" from a hotel was thrown in at the last minute so that the hot glue gun wouldn't cause a purse fire.

Sarah was the set-up man: discreetly plugging in the glue gun and dropping the purse for the second wave of the plan. Not a seasoned-stealer of spoons like me, she was a little jittery...waving me off initially like a horde of butterflies was attacking her face. I believe she may have mouthed the word "abort" to me, but it was too late. My adrenaline would not allow me to turn back at this juncture.

I quickly removed the frame from the wall and, using the blade, eased the backing off to observe, to my consternation, that wood had been nailed in place. I rummaged through the purse but realized I'd forgotten to pack a hack-saw. I grabbed another frame...losing hope. Whew! One small incision and I was through! The tabs that kept the backing in place cut into my fingers and I cursed the lack of a flat-headed screwdriver. Droplets of sweat began to form on my concentrated brow as I maneuvered our picture into place, not wanted to block anyone's beloved aunt from view. Time was ticking by rapidly as I replaced the frame on the wall, swept my supplies back into my purse (burning my hand on the glue-gun) and returning casually to Sarah who sat at out table looking like the judge had already dropped the gavel. Relieved, we casually finished our coffee and tea before walking easily from the establishment. Sarah laughed when we successfully made it to the parking lot without the accompaniment of sirens and a SWAT team. "We're like our own Ocean's Eleven," she said. Clutching our carry-out containers, we hugged good-bye, closing the door on our life of crime.