Some subversive criminal geniuses can last years in their chosen professions without ever being caught. Like Dommer, for instance. Or Frank Abagnale Jr. … Or, if you’re a fan of over-sized shoes and balloon-nose make-up: John Wayne Gacy.
But not me.
I got busted today.
And, no…, (before you start entertaining romantic thoughts of necrophilia under star-studded canopies… or cannibalism with sides of ketchup)…
I am NOT a psychopathically deviant criminal, practicing violent voodoo rituals under deity-blessed barbeques.
Nor, am I a cunning, computer-savvy embezzler, a fraudulent document-twister or even a clever advertising-abuser.
And I certainly would never wear a clown costume out for a good night of rape-ery!
Except, of course, if I could paint my own toe nails…
… preferably, autumn woodpecker orange with lightning bolts of pre-pubescent passion fruit yellow…
No, really, though…
I got caught today while committing the most juvenile of social crimes.
Yes, it was a publicly heinous act. Yes, it was second-glance deservingly disturbing. And, yes, it was the grandma-gossip-grabber your nosy neighbor wishes for:
I was crouched in one of the back seats of the 49 bus headed for work on Capitol Hill, doing the unthinkable at 8am:
I was applying deodorant.
(to its appropriate destinations, mind you.)
And, yes, it was my second offense. And, yes I should have been more candid. But, my winged platypus!, doesn’t everyone deserve to skip a step in their morning ablutions process 2 days in a row at least once every few years?!
In any case…, if you are wondering what criminal repercussions targeted me after being visually apprehended for 5 seconds in the bus driver’s rear view mirror: well.., none.
And, if you are wondering why I felt inclined to tell this asinine story after such a long blogging absence: well…, I’m not sure there is any of that either.
And why I happened to have an extra stick of shower-fresh, armpit massage oil in my backpack?: well…, it’s probably the same reason I have a headlamp, two (I counted them) breath-mints, 14 different black pens, a colony of crushed staples, an inoperable minidisk and two unreadable books in my backpack:
Just in case.
'Cuz, well, you never know...