Being Caustic Bunny

A few weeks ago, I got sloppy and threw out some bank statements that had my name on it.

Bad idea. Someone rummaged through the trash and stole my identity.

On Monday, the electronics store called to confirm where they were going to deliver the big screen LCD TV, DVD player, theatre surround sound system, satellite hookup and power sub woofers. They gave me "his" address and I let them go right ahead and drop it all off.

Then I sent in a forwarding address card to the post office. "I" was moving.

Tuesday he got a card from my lawyer. Since you are now Bunny, Bunny needs to pony up another couple of bucks to put in the divorce settlement escrow pot and, oh, you've chewed up your retainer. Bring your checkbook. The car got a flat.

Wednesday the tax audit came in the mail. IRS now stands for "Irreplaceable Revenue Stream". The persistent drip in the faucet reappeared.

Thursday, his girlfriend inexplicably broke it off. Sent him an email and left. The electronics store confirmed the address they were going to pick up all the returned merchandise from. "Too complicated. Up to my ass in wires and plugs." The water stain in the kitchen ceiling came back.

Friday his insurance went up when they found a shred of knob and tube wiring in the garage. Oops.

Saturday his knee gave out. Ouch.

Sunday I saw him walking in the park. He looked frazzled. Copies of bank statements stuffed in his jacket, a dunning notice from the tax people, lawyer's letters, hobbling and he looked like he hadn't gotten any in weeks.

So I snuck up behind him.

"Did you remember to call Mom?" Then I ducked behind a tree.

Monday night I checked my mailbox. Somebody had folded up my identity in a manilla envelope and stuffed it in the post.

I was me again.