Arrogance is the Enemy
2007-12-07, 2:02 p.m.

Day 1202

New day, new mistake uncovered.

I kept copies of some journal entries in a very buried folder on the home PC. I occasionally finish up an entry and post from there. Last night, while I was at bowling, (did ok, thank you. 30 pins over average for the night, team took 6 of 8. In the last game, each of us struck out in the 10th frame. Other team? Spare & 9, spare & 7, spare & 9. They got 45 pins, we got 90. In one frame. Awesome.) Cindy decided it was time to dig up last years Christmas letter and word craft it into shape for this years� edition.

In the process, she stumbled across the very deeply buried folder containing some of my journal entries. I don�t recall which entries are there, or even what was in the last one I last saved there. Needless to say, she now knows I�ve been keeping a journal, but she doesn�t know where it is. Is that next? I don�t know. The internet is a big place. I�ve never mentioned surnames, addresses, phone numbers. Only first names, major cities and past towns we�ve resided in. Nothing that�s terribly identifying. I think.

Still, I was arrogant enough to think that Cindy wouldn�t find any of the entries I�d saved. I mean, she uses a Mac at work, surely the PC�s DOS based directory structure would be more than she wanted to wade through. Dumb ass.

The cruelly ironic part? The last Christmas letter is on our old PC now collecting dust in the basement. It�s debatable as to whether or not we can even pull it off the old beastie. It doesn�t readily recognize thumb drives, is not currently networked, has no printer and it�s only remaining means of transferring data is via floppy. Hasn�t even been turned on in months. New PC? No floppy drive.

But that�s not the real problem. Now I have to settle her feathers over this whole journal thing.

Time passes.

Time passes.

OK, it�s after lunch now. Cindy & I have swapped emails, spoke on the phone and made plans to go out for dinner. It isn�t the end of the world, or close even. I think she understands that I was just capturing what I was thinking at the time and I wasn�t publishing it in some huge daily newspaper � it was just a diary. I think we�re cool on this. I think. (But that�s gotten me into trouble before, this thinking stuff. It�s sooo dangerous.)

Funny story of the day. I was at the Y this morning, doing my spin class thing. I finished up, logged my class in the system and headed downstairs to shave & grab a shower. Did the whole get naked part, wrapped up in my towel and headed to the sinks & shaved. After shaving I headed back to the showers. The first shower was open (my favorite, it has the best shower head), so I hung my towel & shaving case on the hook to the right of my shower. The next shower is just to the right of that, but it has it�s own hook on the other side. I do my showering, get all shampooed & rinsed off. Open the shower curtain only to find that my towel isn�t there! Shaving bag is there, but no towel. None of the other showers are occupied and no one is in the area that joins the showers to the sink & toilet area. Everybody else is back in the locker room. Lucky (I think) for me, the absconder left his own towel hanging on a towel bar on the wall across from the showers � all of 3 feet away. I picked it up and gave it a once over. It was dry and smelled of laundry detergent. Good signs. At least it was clean. Not having any other options I used it to dry off.

As I walked back into the locker room, I saw the person who absconded with my towel. What he was doing with it convinced me that I didn�t really need it back all that badly. Ladies, you may be unfamiliar with this particular move, but I see guys do it frequently. He had the towel between his legs, extended towards the front and rear. He had a hand on either end and was yanking it back & forth like he was trying to saw himself in half. I shuddered a little bit, turned around, headed for my locker, got dressed and got out of there. He still has my towel. He can keep my towel. His (which seemed like it was stolen from a hotel) may end up in my rag bin out in the garage, and I may just go and shower again tonight, after seeing how Charlie (yes we kinda know each other) uses towels. A little motor oil might do it some good.

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