To the person who stole my identity last week:
We need to talk. Your timing was, shall we say, suboptimal. I realize you probably thought you were being helpful, applying for all those credit cards using my name, date-of-birth, and social security number. The truth is, I simply don’t need six additional cards. But thanks.
I loved reconnecting with my banker, financial planner, insurance company, tax preparer, and creditors, actual and potential, far and wide. I particularly enjoyed my certified correspondence with the IRS – such a jovial lot, based in Fresno, CA, the gang capital of the republic formerly known as the US.
I’ll invoice you for the time I spent untangling your mess (approximately 116 hours, and counting). Do tell me your most accurate address. My last hourly rate was as a family physician (but, of course, you already know that). I’ll be sure to extrapolate up for cost-of-living increases.
So. Since you and I, heretofore referred to as Iyou (not to be confused with Ioyou) are now joined in an unholy union, let’s establish a few ground rules:
1) Iyou am expecting 26 people for Christmas dinner. I hope you know how to cook. And wash dishes. Please plan to be cordial. If you aren’t, we’ll seat you next to my father-in-law, former president of the Minnesota State Bar Association.
2) Rafa the Pomeranian is quite ill and requires twice daily dosing of an entire bagful of drugs. Iyou lovingly crush all pills, mix in the powders, add fish oil and Co-Q10, and swirl all of it in unsalted peanut butter for his royal furness. Your assistance with this matter, as well as the middle-of-the-night-potty-breaks-due-to-the-lasix-and-spironolactone, is expected.
3) You, not Iyou, need to work on budgeting and a long-term legal financial plan. We, Ace and I, will recommend appropriate coursework. At this time, we think it’s best that you not have unfettered access to myour credit cards.
4) By the way, there will be no conjugal visits with my husband. I realize he is quite charming, adorable, and mostly irresistible. Some say he bears a startling resemblance to Donnie Wahlberg. However, Iyou is not allowed in the marital bed. Only I.
5) Did I mention that you better know how to cook? In fact, Iyou has little interest in most things culinary, so perhaps you could take over in this regard.
6) Iyou spend much of myour day reminding the tween – anything from brushing teeth, to shoveling, to unloading the dishwasher. Patience is a virtue that, based on the aforementioned credit card situation, you may want to develop. Trust me, Iyou’ll need it.
7) Iyou volunteer with the music program at The Big E’s school. Piano proficiency is non-negotiable, including sight-reading skills. If you don’t already know how to play, chop chop. (Or should I say chopsticks.)
8) Plan to brush up on your poop-scooping, laundry folding, vacuuming, dishwashing, mail sorting, and snowshoveling skills. Iyou must understand how to deal with the snowblower, the particular oil/gas mixture, the titchy choke, the angles of the snowchute. This is the glamorous life you select when you steal the identity of a Minnesotan. I hope you like lutefisk.
In conclusion, Santa knows whether you’ve been naughty or nice. And Karma is a fickle bedpartner. #WatchYourBack.