What to answer when someone asks you to create a puppet show about the Biblical plagues: Aw...hail, no!

"You want me to do WHAT?" Katriel said as I dragged her down the hall. She had just narrowly escaped going home when I'd caught her. "Oh, never-mind," she'd waved at me in exasperation as I launched into a nonsensical, complicated, and unnecessarily long explanation of why her participation was essential for the success of an utterly unessential project based on a fifteen-year-old parody. 

You never know when lightning is going to strike. 

I believe, at this point in our relationship, Katriel has been praying that it will strike me, at the Lord's earliest convenience. 

As for me, inspiration stuck several weeks ago and then continued to zap me every Friday as I went about my business of purchasing my mother's groceries. There it was...on the way from the bananas to the Special K. Hanging on an end-cap. Beckoning me. 

"They're finger puppets representing the ten plagues," I told my husband, excitedly, when I'd returned to the van. He knows better than to go into the store with me. "That's fun," he said absentmindedly before driving us to deliver toilet paper to my mom's apartment. 

Next week. The same thing. Except this time, I fully stopped my grocery cart to inspect these rather weird puppets more closely. "They even have blood and boils represented," I reported to Brad. "What has blood and boils represented," Brad asked. "The puppets!" I reminded him, confused that he wasn't as invested in this little oddity as I was. Speaking of "invested," he finally asked why I just didn't buy the silly thing. I love that he skipped over the whole What what you DO with these plague-themed puppets part of the conversation. I lowered my voice. "They're eleven dollars," I whispered, still suffering from sticker-shock. My husband shrugged. I've spent MUCH more on more ridiculous things. Apparently, to Brad, eleven dollars was worth not having to hear me prattle on about them every Friday. 

It took two more Fridays for me to pull the trigger. I'd taken a picture to send to my daughters who responded with a bit more emotion than their father. Words like "dark" and "morbid" were texted to me. Savannah clicked "loved an image" which could mean she was in Brad's parked-car mind-set or actually embraced my understandable infatuation. Either way, I had finally percolated enough. I had it.

The Potter Puppet Pals. 

The Mysterious Ticking Noise.

Perfect!

If you know, you know.

Sure, the video is over fifteen years old.

Sure, there are some (who are WRONG) who say that the Harry Potter wave is over.

Sure, there are those out there (who should mind their own business) who believe that I could spend my time much more productively. 

Nay-sayers be darned! I was intent on producing the best off-topic parody (of a parody using a set of eleven dollar grocery-store puppets) as possible before Passover. Who did I know, outside of my immediate family, who had the perfect blend of biblical and Harry Potter knowledge to help me pull this project off?

Sarah.

What I didn't account for was her commitment to plague accuracy, syllable count, and perfection.

I lost control of my project.

The only thing that I clung to was my opening line...Plague...plague...Biblical plagues.

I knew that the second line should reflect the Potter Pals:  Dumbledore! but Sarah was intent on including EVERY ONE OF THE BLASTED PLAGUES. Ugh. Her frogs/lice/flies flew in the face of my more-encompassing (and up-beat) Frogs and more! I was in the fetal position for the rest of the creative process as our friend Julia (who had also been roped into this little project) valiantly tried to support Sarah by researching synonyms with more pleasing syllables and inflections. "Would pustule work better than boil with the metronome?" Julia asked as she carefully cut out a cute cartoon image of Moses. Eww. 

We had to pause for research often. My suggestions regarding summarizing were considered sanctimonious and sacrilegious. I finally fled to retrieve a fourth puppeteer when Sarah finally conceded that she couldn't juggle all the parts herself. I don't actually believe that. I think she just wanted me out of the room.

Katriel walked in and simply asked where she needed to be positioned and what she needed to say. We

plunked a dead cow puppet on her thumb and stuffed her under a table and she didn't bother seeking clarification. Inherently, Katriel realized that the fastest path from this puppet show to her house was complete compliance. 

My promised "This will only take five minutes" favor promptly turned into thirty as our blooper reel grew. "I don't think I can bleep that out," I repeated as we veered off-script in frustration. 

But finally, we (sort of) captured our (conflicting) vision(s). 

"Thanks for helping," Sarah said to Katriel as we cleaned up. "Yeah, you really nailed your section," Julia added, glaring at me as she pulled her paper Moses puppet from the trash. They were both surprised that Katriel had walked into this little debacle with no knowledge or planning. "I've learned from working with Amy," she shared, "that it's better to remain in the dark." 

PG Blooper:

Alternative ending: