The Inner Slut

I was just on the phone with my Dale and we were talking about our fascination with surveillance. He'd rather call it stalking. We both like the idea of gathering information about people. I like the use of gadgets in getting information, to sell, or to use against the person. You know, to put me in a position of power over the subject, or the "stalkee."

Dale: You'd be surprised how much information about a person you can get from his trash.

Me: I know. That's why I shred my papers. I don't just crumple 'em and throw 'em in the trash.

Dale: You're not paranoid, are you?

Me: Yup! Me, I'm paranoid, a conspiracy theorist, and now, a stalker.

Dale: We should put up Stalkers Anonymous.

Me: Yeah, and you could be the president with me as your vice!

Dale: ...(mumbling to someone in the room)... Sorry, sweetheart. I got to go. Bernadine's in the other office.

Me: Oh. She's there? (She's the owner of the business.)

Dale: Yeah. She arrived early this morning. Had to move my car so she could land her broomstick.

Me: Mmm. Very Wicked Witch of the West, is she, this morning?

Dale: You can't imagine. I'll see you soon, sweetheart.

Me: I miss you.

Dale: And I miss you. Let me just get March out of the way, baby. Then things will go back to normal.

It's been seven weeks, I think. This is going to be a long March.