Confessions of a former snooper

When Pandora’s opened the jar, she unleashed all sorts of horror and evil on mankind. Have you ever been as curious as Pandora? Have you ever had that compunction to open a friend’s medicine chest? Have you ever found yourself alone in your boyfriend’s place rummaged through his drawers?  Have you ever been so curious that you invaded someone’s privacy? If curiosity killed the cat what did your curiosity do to you?

In my youth I was a snoop. Although, I likened myself to be more of an investigator of mysteries. When my parents thought I was tucked in and snoozing I was lurking and snooping. As a teen, I read a friend’s letter and found out that she was my frenemy instead of my BFF. When my ex-ex-ex-ex-ex-ex-ex boyfriend left me alone at his place, I read through his old love letters and found out that his former girlfriend was sweet, but a semi-retard (“you’re my bestest friend” was how she ended her letters and cards). My immaturity led me to believe that snooping was a way to find out about the world and others around me.

Today, I am a reformed snoop–this is why. Years ago (before I turned 30) I was at a club with friends. After a while, the club got so hot I went outside for some air. That was when I heard a familiar cackle (and other mysterious noises) coming from around the corner of the building. I should have minded my business and gone back into the noise and the heat. Instead, I walked around the building and through the wire fence that led to the alley. I lurked and snooped and saw one of my friends making out with another friend’s boyfriend. They were quickly moving from first base to second base and closing in on a home run. I thought I was hallucinating, but that could have been the kamikaze shots. I was speechless, but my mouth was open so wide and for so long that my spit dried.

I backed away, but my boots tripped over the curb and I went down and landed my ass on something wet. To this day, I don’t know what that “something wet” was, but it certainly wasn’t water. I quickly got up. But in mid-lift my pants got caught on the wire fence and when I tried to release myself, my new pair of leathers ripped on the right side of my tush. I ran back to the club with a wet, stinky ass and a ruined pair of leather pants (that cost me half a week’s pay).

What’s worse is that the bouncers almost didn’t let me in because I couldn’t show them the stamp on my right hand as it was busy holding together my ripped pants. After much arguing and semi-crying I got back in. I spent the rest of the night wearing a borrowed sweater tied around my waist and wishing I could erase, from my mind, what I saw in the alley. When my girlfriend asked me if I’d seen her boyfriend I just stared at her. I neither confirmed or denied. When her boyfriend came back in the club, they got into a big fight and thus ended their three-week relationship. This is what snooping got me–embarrassment, a bruised ass and a guilty conscience.

Now, I’m no longer tempted to look into matters that are none of my concern. In my “advanced” years, I realize that the most important mystery I need to investigate is me.

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