Everything I Like Causes Cancer

As I pulled up to my garage tonight I noticed a piece of paper stuck in the handle of my garage door. The paper was yellow, folded into eighths, and looked like a note. My mind raced with the possibilities. Was it a hate letter from one of my neighbors for some dumpster or lawn care faux pas? A note from a friend? A bid from a contractor who happened by and saw the opportunity presented by my dilapidated garage roof?

Giddy with anticipation, I jumped out of the car into the pouring rain and snatched it off the door. It was addressed “To the lovely lady with the convertible.” Huh. Interesting.

I got back in the car and opened it carefully as the rain had made the paper delicate. It read, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, you are very beautiful. I do not mean to offend, but I suppose I am a secret admirer. I would love to hear from you, if you use email you can reach me at bndtXX at X dot com.”


I instinctively assumed that “bndt” stands for “Bandit” and giggled aloud over its potential meanings. It crossed my mind that maybe the note was from a raccoon. Or that the author was an old-timey bank robber. Or Burt Reynolds. Or maybe even Burt Reynolds' moustache!

I went down this path until it was exhausted and then re-read the note. On my second reading I realized that the note was well-written, that he had chosen nice words to convey his feelings and had taken the time to write in a nice, even, readable hand.

I am generally appalled at the spelling, grammar and sentence structures produced by 75% of the so-called literate world, but this? This is decent writing for someone who leaves notes on women’s garages on rainy Wednesdays.

For example, ALL of the words are spelled correctly, even the harder ones like “admirer” and “beautiful” and rather than risk a your/you’re mistake, he wrote out both words. Most importantly, the note doesn’t contain one character of the txtspk that is slowly eroding the English language. I understand that txtspk has its place, BTW, but that place is not in an anonymous love note.

So now I am left with options. I could ignore it altogether telling myself that he’s a creepy stalker. He wouldn’t be my first, or my second, or even my third. I'm a magnet for them, it seems.

I could respond, leaving an anonymous reply note that says I’m flattered but not interested in an anonymous suitor. Or I could embrace the chance that he is my Prince Charming and email him only to find out he’s the meth-head I see every morning buying a six-pack of Busch tall-boys at the 7-11 on the corner.

I could also stand naked in front of my garage until he comes back, but it’s still raining and cold. I’m dying to know what you guys think. Who is he? What would you do? What would Jesus do? What should I do?