Friday, February 17th, 2023
You understand me and often make me smile. Thank you, Diary. I share with you the most private of things that I’d never share with others. The raptured thrill of assembling an A-Frame Lego set, the pure relaxation of sinking into a season of The Cabin Chronicles, the unabashed joy of ‘comfort’ Buffalo cauliflower, or the mind-numbing pleasure of repeatedly throwing Henry his ballerina bear.
Diary, I must also confide that I’ve recently been experiencing some major FOMO with all these politicians having classified documents at their houses. If I could only figure out a …wait a sec…and, oh, please hold that thought!
I almost forgot it was newsletter day!
You know all of us work so hard, all week, and then guess what?!
Every single week with a…FRIDAY!!!
It’s FRIDAY!!! Today is FRIDAY!!!
But, before we tap the keg…
Nowadays, it seems like the en-vogue move is to bring Top Secret classified documents home.
What could go wrong?
Always hating to be the one left out of the party, I made a call or two to NYT, WSJ, WaPo, Saturday Evening Post, you know, the big circulators.
30-40 unsuccessful calls later, I ended up with Caitlin, a 19-year-old sporting neon pink highlights, titanium chin piercings, and a stout-hearted predilection for aquamarine-colored tattoos featuring 6′ 7″ Norsement interning at our local suburban newspaper.
“Hey Caitlin, it’s David Sabgir, I was calling because I may, or may not, have found classified documents in…my…HOUSE!!!”
They must be on to me.
What does that even mean? You called them.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Seep…Mr. Seephole. Could you repeat that? You’re calling to share that you have classified documents at your house?
Yep, she’s definitely on to me.
“Oh, shoot! You got me, Caitlin! I can’t sneak a single thing past you interns. You better send out your top investigative reporters immediately because I think we’re sitting on a goldmine over here.”
4 days later…
“Hey, Big Boys!! Come and get it!”
Screen door open, I’m standing in the doorframe waving the ‘documents’ as they exit their matte black, unmarked, Chevy Caprice. I leave the door open a crack, and dash into the kitchen.
Two college-aged individuals, one male, and one female make their way through our hallway into the kitchen. I’ve positioned myself on the far end of our prematurely worn, round oak kitchen table.
I leave the documents in the center of the table as I head to the fridge.
“Can I get you two a glass of cold water?”
I pause and stare back over at the kitchen table.
I’d left the papers in a crisp, neat stack next to a 10-inch Depression-era blue glass vase filled with fresh canary yellow tulips.
“Oh no! I’m so stupid!” I slam my palm on my now reddened forehead, it was slightly harder than I had intended.
I point at the papers for a moment longer than necessary, close my eyes, and shake my head.
“You know what, fine. Take them! But whatever you do, and you have to swear to me, whatever you do, don’t publish these Top Secret classified documents. This information cannot get out, it would absolutely break me!”
Jacob and Emily (I’m just guessing) look at each other and reluctantly pick up several of the papers and begin to leaf through them.
“Mr. Saunters, these don’t appear to be classified documents. These maybe are newspaper articles related to, I don’t know, looks like there are all new health studies,” shares Emily.
Jacob holds one up. “Looks like this one is related to coffee.”
Emily’s turn. “This is a new one sharing how a plant-rich diet lowers the risk of early death.”
Jacob tilts his head. “Wait, Mr. Sanders? Are you the one who rights those stupid newsletters? No offense, though,” he says holding his right palm up to me in defense.
“None taken, Jacob. I have no idea what you are referring to.”
“Are you just trying to get us to publish these new health studies in the New Albany Weekly news under the guise of them being ‘discovered classified documents’?” Emily follows up.
Just like that, beads of sweat form on my upper lip and I’m now terrified this will be my ‘tell’.
OMG! They’ll know within seconds! I’ve got to get out of here!!
but it’s your house?
I pivot and leap into a dead sprint before realizing I’d left the refrigerator wide open. With three steps, I’d gathered enough speed to slam face-first into the heavy Frigidaire door ramming it into our recently repaired white cabinet door behind it. The force was strong enough to rip the thick brass pull off the cupboard gauging a deep, paint-removing cut down almost the entire cabinet. While that hit to my nose, right eye, jaw, ear, and forehead was certainly devastating, it wasn’t half as bad as the knock I took when my head ricocheted back off the kitchen island throwing me to the ground.
Everything tastes like pennies.
The floor is surprisingly wonderfully cool and welcoming,
I think the fetal position might feel a little more comfortable right about now.
I cannot make out what the two kids are saying to each other.
Even though they are standing directly over me, they sound like the Peanut’s teacher.
Are they really just going to step over my body as they are…
“Sorry, Mr. Summers!”
Looks like they left every single piece of paper on the table.
Disclaimer: I have no classified documents at my house. There is no keg in the newsletter or anywhere else. If I’m wrong and there is one, somewhere, it’s filled with milk. Have a great weekend!
“I feel like in some respects we are looking at the future of medicine and wouldn’t that be great if we all got more in control of our own well-being and worked to get some sort of movement in with our medications”. Check out this episode of the Squeeze the Day podcast with FiftyForward, leaders of WWAD in Nashville!