Small Town Tag

I've often blogged about how everyone in my area seems to tell me to keep everything a secret, including mundane things that I would never have second guessed...like announcing on Facebook that we are going on vacation.
Them: "Oh no, don't say that!  Then everyone will know!" 
Me: "Uh...yeah, that's why I posted it on Facebook!" 
Them: "I can't believe you would tell everyone that you're going on vacation!" 
Me: "I can't believe you don't get excited enough TO tell everyone you're going on vacation." 
Them: "Yeah, but then they will know you're not home and someone could come rob your house!" 

Ok, first of all...no one in this area has an alarm on their house (probably not supposed to say that either).  So if you were the kind of person who wanted to break in (ie the kind of person who has no regard for their own life and/or shotguns), you could do it any day, not just while we're on vacation.

 Second, if you're my friend on Facebook (or anywhere else for that matter) I would hope you wouldn't want to rob my house (plus now my suspect list is narrowed down.  "Officers, question all 412 facebook friends right away!!  Oh, and don't forget my 11 blog followers!") 

Third, if you're REALLY my friend, you probably know where the spare key is hidden (or if there is one). 

And last but not least, if you are truly my friend, you know that we don't have anything worth stealing!  Broken flat screen tv?  It's all yours.  Target Christmas rug?  Watch out, it bleeds in the washing machine.  Router?  It's only been struck by lightning once, so you might get something out of that. 

People are stupid.  But even with all of the above being said, I STILL did not realize just how efficient the Small Town Telephone Tag really can be.  It's like a sick and twisted phone tree.  Case in point:
Last week Adam sent me to the auto parts store for a product to remove all the water from the diesel in his engines.  (Clearly, I knew exactly what I was looking for...NOT.)  I ran into a friend, Richie, in the parking lot.  He was leaving as I was going in.  The store did not have enough of what I was looking for (Hell, it was a miracle they could even understand what I was talking about, let alone have any of the actual product in stock!), so I had to go to the other auto parts store.  I ran into Richie again at the 2nd auto parts store and he informed me that my tags were expired on my plates.  Sure enough, for the second year in a row, I never got them in the mail and they expired in October.  Great.  I leave the auto parts store and head across town (maybe 3 miles) to the grocery store.  The goal is to get in and out...so I buy a case of Bud Light and a gallon of milk and hit the road.  (Hey, it's a recession...we're down to the bare necessities.) By the time I pulled out of the parking lot, my husband called and told me I need to go across the street to replace my expired tags.  I'm like...how did you know?  Apparently, in the time I drove across town, bought the necessities, and got in my car, Richie called our mutual friend Randy, who called Adam.  Randy and Adam had been on the phone for 10 minutes before Adam called me.  I guess it's nice that they were all concerned...but don't think I don't know that if any of the 3 of them would have seen me with a piece of toilet paper stuck to my shoe, or a giant spider in my hair...nary a word would've been spoken. :)  Good thing it was just a license plate.