The young homeowner was in bed with his wife when the telephone rang. Sleepily he lifted the receiver to hear: “Sir, this is Sergeant Preston from Security. I thought you should know that there has been a property invasion in the neighbourhood and the perpetrators are reported to be still in the vicinity.”
“Thank you,” said the young man, “If they happen to come on to our property, please give them a warm welcome.”
“Sir?” said Security in a doubtful tone.
“We are an inclusive household,” said the young man, running his fingers through his luxurious locks, “I am quite insistent on that. Good night.”
Thirty minutes later the phone rang again. “This is Security. That car full of troublemakers has entered our property. What should we do?”
“Do?” asked the young man with the culturally appropriated tattoo. “What should you do? Why, be kind to them of course!”
“Sir, they appear to be armed.”
“We mustn’t judge, Sergeant; diversity is our strength. Now, I’m trying to sleep. Don’t call me again.”
Despite the important young man’s pleas, Security was soon on the line again.
“Sir, we really must do something. The gang has broken into the garage and is attempting to steal your quad.”
“Sergeant, please be reasonable and don’t make this worse than it really is. These are children from an impoverished background. If your ancestors hadn’t oppressed their ancestors, they wouldn’t be getting up to these juvenile pranks. Now, before you call me again, I want you to go apologize to them. Am I clear?”
“Yes sir,” said Security reluctantly. “Apology it is.”
Within minutes the phone rang yet again.
“Well?” said the impatient young man with the splendid head of hair, “Did you apologize or do I have to come down there with my Reconciliation socks on and do it for you?”
“Well sir, I had just started my speech when your mother came out of the house with a plate of hash brownies for everyone and the female member of the gang started beating on her! What should we do?”
“They were assaulting my mother!” said the righteously indignant young man to his wife. “Honey, hand me the Inuit carving!”
