The Post It Note of Mystery

30 08 2011

I found a post-it note on the sidewalk today.

It made me think.

The Vixen and I were out and about, taking a walk down the road in one of those rare child free moments. (Which are few are far between) We had only just walked a few minutes from our porch when I spotted a familiar yellow object on the sidewalk. The friendly little post it note. Well, regular sized. I can’t really call it small since there are tinier, not that it really has an impact on anything.


I couldn’t resist, I had to pick it up. I took an abrupt stop and grabbed it. The Vixen paused mid sentence wondering what was so important  as to interrupt her thoughts on quantum versus lattice field theory. (I would find out later that she was lattice all the way.) She squinted at the well used banana colored office stationary and shifted gears.

“What the heck is that?” she said.

“It’s a post it note.” I replied. And you can probably imagine how the next few seconds unfolded. I might add here that every women in the world seems to have genetically programmed knowledge on where to hit their significant others to cause maximum discomfort while leaving little to no signs of assault. They’re like bad cops with phone books. Or in the Vixen’s case a rubber hose.


It was a list. Nothing so mundane as groceries but then it wasn’t nearly as complex as the list of materials one might need to build a cold fusion reactor in their basement. Nope. It was a list of traits. The personality and physical traits of what I can only assume to be a random denizen in this little town in rural upstate New York. Random to me anyways. I’m sure the person making the list probably knew who they were describing.

The front was full of overwhelmingly positive things for the most part. Some not so overwhelming. Some I dare say, mediocre things. But positive nonetheless.  Items such as, ‘professional appearance’ and ‘punctual’. Hrm. Initially I thought it might be an attempt by a near-dating-age-girl to discern whether she should go to the dance with Patrick or Bill. Something like that. I don’t know if girls actually go for guys named Patrick.

The reverse was what squashed that initial thought when it presented a line that read, ‘doesn’t like coffee or wine’. I know that would be top priority on my negative/positive list for potential mates. So I discarded the idea. The back side was most decidedly the cons to this mystery-man-or-woman-of-the-post-it-note. The Vixen thinks it might have something to do with a doctor’s selection of an intern of some sort. But unless some lost doctor comes knocking on doors on my street looking for the ever so important post it note that escaped their possession, we may never know.




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