“We are what we pretend to be.#”

- Kurt Vonnegut

Wearing loose, five year old boxers, I sit in my den writing to you now surrounded by not one, not two, but three fans.

I could be all poetic about my situation and say that I am glistening with the fruits of my labor, but let's be real; I'm sweating my patooty off.

It's hot in my apartment.

It's so hot in my house (All together, now ... “How hot is it?”) It's so hot that Richard Simmons' next video of Sweating To The Oldies is going to be taped in my living room.

The only difference this time will be the fact that the seniors won't be exercising but just sitting on my couch perspiring while watching reruns of Andy Griffith. Bad joke, I know, but then again it's hard to be funny when you have to keep wiping your face with a towel and you haven't been in the shower since this morning.

So with that moist visual now resting in your head I'm sure that you are just full of envy for my place in life. Wouldn't you just love to be me for a day?

Well someone certainly does because today I'm not just hot, I'm fuming. And why, because someone out there has stolen my identity. No there's not another Brad Molloy running around.

I'm not sure that the world could actually handle two of us.

After going over my banking records this week I had the fun experience of finding out that a helpful soul has decided to take the burden of spending my money off my shoulders.

I'm annoyed and jealous on so many levels. I'm mostly peeved because it has taken me all these years to finally find out who I am as a person but it only took this slacker a few hours and a couple of keystrokes to figure me out.

If I knew there was an express lane for figuring out who I could be I could have saved myself a lot of time and trouble in my early 20s.

This is why I think computers are bad: They make people lazy. Back in the day you could walk down a dark alley and a trained professional would mug you. Simple, easy, to the point. Now? Anyone with a modem can swipe your cash.

It's just a sad day when even an honest mugger has to get a real job because their career is being outsourced by some techno-geek. I guess, like most people, I just miss the personal service.

The relief at the end of this headache is that after proving that I am me, my savings are secure once again.

Oh, the jealousy thing? That comes from reading the shopping records. Shockingly enough they have better taste than I do.

So what does that say about me? Maybe you need to ask them. But don't wait too long, because they might not be themselves tomorrow.

Auburn native Bradley Molloy's column is featured here,

each Sunday, in The Citizen.

He can be reached at lovonian@hotmail.com