X Marks the Spot

Guess where I went today? I can't tell you. Guess where it was? I can't tell you that either. Hmmm, what can I tell you? I went to a place to pick something up. Yea. Whoope. You're on the edge of your seat, I can tell.

OK, I'll clue you in a little more so you don't "x" me out before moving on to reading the Uof O pre-game match up or reading backstage secrets of Dancing With the Stars. Today I went to the depths of Nike History or DNA as it's known on campus. (That would be the Department of Nike Archives to you non-Ponders.) This is a warehouse whose location is not only not given out to the public but it's not made known to Nike employees. With only a few exceptions. I happen to be an exception today. (wow, there's a joke in there somewhere, if only it wasn't 41 minutes away from being tomorrow, I could think of a really good one).

So I went to the unmarked door and rang the doorbell. No secret knock, handshake or password. Sorry to dissappoint. My box was waiting and off I went on my merry way (after they blindfolded and drugged me and left me at a random Hillsboro intersection.) What was in the box? Shoes and shirts from the 1970s.

Could I be a really rich person if I had sold the box's contents on E-bay? Absolutely. But would I have been sued and taken to the clearner for all I'm worth? Absolutely. Will I ever give up the location of every original Nike that's ever been made in every color? For the right price. Laura, are you saying you could be bought. Yep, that's what I'm saying. I may not have 8 kids to feed but I do have PCC tuition bills and a caffiene habit to support.

In related news, in a strange twist of irony, I may be working at Old Navy over Christmas while we go "dim - not dark" for 2 weeks.

In unrelated news, Mama and Papa were local celebrities tonight. . .and Laura's middle school pictures did not end up in the background.