Mystery 41

When I started my blog I figured it would be for a small group of friends and family, which it has been – for the most part.

Except, after my first post I received an email from someone I did not recognize. The subject line read: Dear Miss Scribbles. The email simply read, “Cute dogs.” I replied by sending a smiley face. After all, I didn’t really want to put people on the spot by asking questions. I had welcomed anyone on my homepage to “feel free to email me,” and I am on Facebook and LinkedIn. Strangers could easily stumble upon my page and read a post or two, which I know they have because I can see where my traffic originates. No biggie.

So, I thought.

Then a couple of weeks later my Puppy Love story posted. My mystery reader’s email said, “Donny’s loss.” It was silly and funny, of course, but still I was taken aback and just a little bit curious. I did not respond. I did not hear back from him/her/them, so I kind of forgot about it.

Months went by and many posts with no mystery emails. I knew there was nothing to worry about. I was mad at myself for – even for a second – buying into the paranoia.

In January, six months after I started my blog, I posted, One Snowy Day in Washington, D. C. I remember the dread I felt as I hovered over the message I received after that post. The emails had always been the same: short, normal font, no greeting or salutations inside the mail, just the same “Dear Miss Scribbles” in the subject line. This one was no different. It read: “I’m just glad you found your way to Florida.”

I immediately got a weird feeling and quickly closed my laptop. There was nothing really threatening. Was I just becoming the paranoid person I had been resisting?

I’ve always prided myself on not bringing my phone everywhere I go – even on long walks. After all, as I’ve said a million times, I lived for fifty years without a cell phone. But now, I was bringing my phone on walks. And I found myself looking over my shoulder a little too much. I even started to position my fingers on each side of the phone to be able to quickly access “SOS Emergency Call.” I hated what I was becoming as I’ve always been someone who likes to trust folks.

With overprotective loved ones who watch a little too much Forensics Files, I didn’t dare mention this because I knew they would immediately go all Defcon on the situation.

When I started replacing my outside walks with treadmill walks in the gym, I could no longer stand it.

I drafted and redrafted a response email to the mystery person and repeatedly resisted hitting send.

When my curiosity and paranoia finally got the best of me, I settled on a reply. It was short and succinct, “I’m sorry, but do I know you?”

The answer to the mystery was simple.

sloof lirpa