Identity Thievery

I don't mean to sound immodest, but I got it going on. I have a cute baby, a cute baby momma and a set of disco moves that would give John Travolta an aneurysm. Who wouldn't want to be me? I mean, who in their right mind wouldn't want to be Lee Vanderpool for a week?

As it turns out, there's at least one son of a bitch who wants to be me a little too badly, because last night I discovered that someone had been making very suspicious purchases with my ATM debit card. I have no idea how s/he got hold of my 16-digit card number, much less my personal pin code, but I do know that I never spent €500 on tickets from Air Burkina or €380 on cell phones from Orange. I might occasionally splurge on a new accessory for the Mac or a toy for Sofia, but I think I'd remember scheduling a trip to Ouagadougou or Bobo Dioulasso.

Fortunately, my card was about to expire and the new one is already on the way, which means I won't have to wait the standard three to four months for a replacement card. Unfortunately, it's not clear whether my bank's insurance will cover all of the fraudulent charges that were made on my card in the last week. I'll probably spend the better part of the next few days filling out forms, going to different bank offices and giving urine samples, and all I'll be able to show for it will be a new writing callous, worn-out shoes and a relieved bladder.

I'm pretty sure that there's a lesson to be learned in all of this, but I'll be damned if I can think of it right now.