I’m wanted - in Texas

PrettyLady called me at work to ask the dreaded question, “Is there anything you need to tell me?’

I was sitting at my desk and it took me a few minutes. It took me a few minutes to realize exactly how boring I’ve become. I’ve run out of things to hide. I’m as safe as I look in khaki shorts and a polo. I don’t gamble. I passed on the last offer of a cigar, because it would keep me up all night. I can keep beer in the fridge for days at a time. I haven’t had a speeding ticket in over a decade. All of my conversations with women are about my kids. I kind of wish I did have something… an offshore account or something.

Toddering: “Um, no, what do you mean?”
PrettyLady: “The State of Texas is looking for you.”
Toddering: “Texas?”
PrettyLady: “The Texas Department of Children Services”

This is a godsend. This is magnetic racing flames for the side of my white pickup truck. This is a semblance of sizzle without the risk. Some man left a woman and child in Texas. We have the same first and last names, but the middle name is clearly different. We are not, apparently, of the same ethnicity.

If John Edwards hadn’t blown the faith of every liberal woman in the US, PrettyLady might find this funny. PrettyLady does not find this funny. She called the authorities in Texas. I’m supposed to fax a copy of my driver’s license to clear the matter up. Ah well, it was fun while it lasted.