It happens to around 8 million people, and this month, it happened to us. Odie had his identity stolen.

The first week of January, we discovered that Odie has great credit and so we financed a nice humble little used car. Apparently, we were not the only ones who got excited about Odie’s credit. Within a few days, there were four hard inquiries on his credit report, and three different mail order businesses gave the thief accounts in Odie’s name.

He received a credit alert from freecreditreport.com (you have that song in your head now, don’t you?) and the next day I opened a package expecting a popcorn maker, yet finding a Nintendo Wii, Super Mario Brothers bundle. I stared at it dumbly for a minute. My first thought was “Damn you, Amazon 1-click!” hypothesising I must have accidentally ordered this. But it was addressed to Odie, not to me.

Besides, I would have “accidentally” ordered an XBox 360 Connect (you ARE the controller).

What kind of idiot thief steals stuff with my money and then gives it to me? It dawned on me that these people were not just internet thieves, they intended to watch my house and get those packages before I did. My skin crawled as I imagined being staked out by goodness knows who while I nursed my infant on the couch. Yikes!

Assholes, say hello to my little friend. Actually, my big friend, a 65 pound lab/pitbull mix. She kind of hates people she doesn’t know. Especially men. She’s sort of a first wave feminist that way. And she’s racist. But man, can she cook.

My living room is all windows, and as my sister and her urine-stained trousers can attest, we have an excellent guard dog. She is big, she has a deep, angry bark, and she will spring off the windows so hard, your doubts about their ability to hold will be warranted. As my father can attest, her bark is not worse than her bite. Because she bites.

I never saw any shady types lurking around my house, but I was scared. My local police advised me to call 911 if I saw anyone. Very comforting. I called 911 once. I saw a man in a car punching the woman in the passenger seat over and over and over and over. The phone just rang. No one ever answered.

My house is difficult to find. Halfway down the block, it changes cities, so the numbering is weird. One house is number 35 and the next one is 18945. I have never once invited someone to my house, be it friend or workman, and had that person find my house without at least one phone call to me telling me s/he’s lost. For once, I think this worked in my favor. My house is also at the top of a flight of windy stairs. It isn’t easy to look inconspicuous walking up my front steps and back down with a package. Plus, my neighbors are nosey. God bless them.

One thing did go missing, though. I ordered an old-fashioned popcorn maker. The kind with a crank you have to turn. I read that they are taking microwave popcorn off the market gradually because the lining of the bags causes cancer. They’re phasing the product out gradually between now and 2014. No word on whether the cancer comes on gradually.

I like old-fashioned, popped in oil popcorn, anyway. After reading positive reviews on Amazon, I found one that suited my needs. It just never showed up, despite my account showing that it shipped.

So, it’s Friday night and I just poured a glass of wine. Here’s a toast to the thieves who charged several hundreds of dollars of electronics to my husband.

Enjoy your $26.85 popcorn maker, motherfuckers.