Valuables

While in Florida, Scott and Brian stayed at my place to babysit my menagerie of Phish, Larry Bird and Paquita. Before leaving, I took great pains to hide my *ahem* Valuables. I wouldn’t risk passing them through an x-ray machine at airport security (“Ma’am, please empty the contents of your bag”) and Christian was not willing to be a Page Six snippet and wouldn’t carry them on my behalf. So, I stashed them as best I could.

I’ve known Scott since I was 15 years old; there is little, if anything, in my drawers life that could shock him. I still, however, found myself compelled to bury my Valuables out of sight. “As long as I survive four more days, my secret is safe,” I thought. There are a few things wrong with that scenario:

• I have never kept my Valuables a secret.
• I’ve talked about my Valuables with Scott at length.
• If I don’t survive the trip, the cat is out of the bag.

My logic is, as long as you can’t picture them, they don’t exist. Plus, I don’t want Scott using them.

I left Scott with a clogged tub and no food in the fridge. I returned to a sparkling, clog-free porcelain tub and more food than I’ve had since . . . umm . . . well . . . never. He even left a bottle of wine. Surely this was a mistake. Didn’t he mean to take it? I can’t believe I was so selfish. Next time, he can have my Valuables. I’ll just buy new ones.