Tahoe shredder

She checked us in at the CalNeva, which straddles the California-Nevada border. Asked to see Alan’s ID. Like me, she’s been a victim of identify theft. But she got to confront her exploiter, who was in one of her college classes.

“He took my debit card, a few pieces of mail and just slipped into my identity.”

He was expelled and went to jail, she said.

“I let him know how know how I felt.”

“How?”

“I broke his nose and the right side of his jaw.” Pause. “Don’t think he likes snowboards anymore.”

Betwixt

She texts, “do you ever feel weird back in Santa Monica? Like u have a different identify there?”

Me: “BIG YES.”

I’m more open here vs. the firm responsible daughter who triggers my mother's “ignore” screen.

A problem when I want to convey something important. Better to wait for Alan; a short sentence from him is gold.

I think I know a little about how you feel in the Forever 21 dressing room, me waiting with the Latino boyfriend who’s approving his girlfriend’s shirts. Anxious? Judged? Very young?

The proverbial rock and hard place waits for us.