If you ever used to play the Comparing Parents Game when you were a kid ("My dad can beat up your dad," "Well my dad is faster than, um, a space ship," ) then you long ago realized that most dads can't beat up any dads because most parents are pretty boring. They are regular humans with high cholesterol and a job at the local Hat Factory. Or are they?? (Probably, but let's pretend they're not. )
You could, of course, take the direct approach—saying "Hey everybody, my parents are spies," for example—but the best schemes always have layers of misdirection, intrigue, and unnecessarily complicated deception. These approaches are guaranteed to either convince people you have spy parents or to make your regular parents deeply concerned that you have lost your mind.
Leave suspicious documents lying around.
In reality: The only interesting thing anyone wold find in your house is a nifty little spy camera. Well, okay, a picture of one. In an ad at the back of a comic book from the 1970s.
To imply spyhood: Fill your home with maps of Eastern European cities and newspapers in which completely unrelated words have been circled. Fabricate some secret documents by making inane lists, like the most attractive-sounding last names, or your state's least-remarkable bridges. Or just write "SECRET SPY JUNK" on a file folder, cross it out, and write "NOTHING AT ALL."
Insist that your parents are not spies.
In reality: Of course your parents are not spies.
To imply spyhood: Insisting that your parents are not spies is one of the most reliable ways to imply that they are, because who would even bother doing that? Consider doing this after getting really flustered in response to a completely innocent comment. ("It's hot today?! Oh! Ha ha! Yes, I suppose it is! I thought you meant, uh, nothing. MY PARENTS ARE NOT SPIES.")
Suggest that your vacations are somehow mysterious.
In reality: You go camping every summer at Camp Uninspiring, some kind of space-time anomaly where a week lasts two months, campfire hot dogs can somehow be both burnt and frozen, and you will develop a poison sumac rash simply by driving up in the car.
To imply spyhood: Well, clearly you were out of town because your parents had to infiltrate a high-stakes poker game in which somebody wore an eyepatch and had a cat on his lap. You can't talk about it, of course, but you can use finger quotes and a sarcastic tone every time you refer to having gone "camping." Overusing this technique around your parents will likely result in you being sent to a psychologist.
Name-drop a country that doesn't exist.
In reality: The closest your family has come to international intrigue is getting thrown out of Epcot for driving a Segway into a pond.
To imply spyhood: Any good spy family would have dragged you around the world while you were growing up, which would give you a a broader, although completely fictional, outlook on life. "Man, you just can't find good pizza like this in Blotswanga," you'll say. "UH, TO WHICH I'VE NEVER BEEN."
Stock up on spy gear, or at least gear with a confusing purpose.
In reality: Your house contains, at most, one confusing item, like a bathroom with a phone in it.
To imply spyhood: Collect anything with a functionality no ordinary person could possibly ever need, e.g. a pen that contains a periodic table of elements, shoes with backwards-footprint capability, or a watch that secretly contains a smaller watch, which is also a magnet. Get all weird and possessive about these things as necessary. ("Don't touch that retainer case! It actually contains cyanide spy teeth. Wait, no. It is an ordinary civilian retainer case.")
Post a comment!