ERIN: I'm 18 now, so you can't tell me what to do anymore. We're equals.
GREG: Aim higher.
This past weekend lined up to be pretty quiet. Corinne was traveling for work and all the kids were off with their other parents. (Except Josie, but she was going to be fixated on her last weekend with Jake before he leaves for his mission… And I definitely didn't want to be around that.)
So I was really excited when plans fell into place to go down to Burnsville and hang out with one of my best friends ever. Brian and I didn't even have elaborate plans – just hanging out, catching up and getting drunk. Safely and quietly.
I got to meet Brian's lovely wife Gretchen and share a couple of delightful glasses of purple tea with Edwin the Destroyer.
But Sunday morning when I went out to the driveway to my car, my winter coat wasn't in it. This was partly troubling because it was f'ing cold out. But it was mostly troubling because my wallet was in that coat pocket.
After spending the better part of two days cancelling credit cards, closing bank accounts, reapplying for a drivers license and beginning to piece together all the tiny, random bills I have that auto-deduct from my checking account and now need to be switched over to a new account I've had some time to wonder.
And here's what I wonder: If you were an identity thief, would you be selective about which identities you stole?
I mean, really, who the hell would choose to be me?
Wouldn't you have some kind of standards about the identities you're about to assume? I sure as hell would. Seriously. If you're going to take on a new persona, it should be an upgrade, shouldn't it?
Unless you're a supremely confident thief. In which case, perhaps you see yourself as rescuing identities that are in desperate need of some new life. Mr. Nussbaum from St. Louis Park would never go downtown and get an inner thigh tattoo. He's too boring for that. But at least his identity can.
Maybe some of these misunderstood Robin Hoods are metaphorically freeing pent up souls to channel their repressed desires. I'd never walk into a convenience store and spend $167 on Ding Dongs and kettle chips. But my credit card just did.
I think my identity and I need to aim a little higher.
PS: Pardon the non sequitor at the beginning of this post, but I thought the Erin exchange was funny enough that it deserved to be out here. But if I wrote a whole post around it, I'd have to think about it in deeper context and then it would just depress me. So I worked it into this post!