Belabor

So...not one to belabor a point (see, if you’re new here, that’s funny…because it’s not true…just trying to help you along, lest you be confused) but here I go.

It's not the first time I’ve beaten a dead horse.

And it won't be the last...of that I am fairly certain.

But here's the point on which I am hung up.

And yes, I realize fully that I ended that sentence with a preposition. Sue me, grammar police.

Actually, please don't. I already have a healthy...perhaps a beyond healthy…fear of the local law enforcement. As this post is about to divulge.

And I don’t know why, except MAYBE it is because I am one of those “rule followers” who live in a state (somewhat) of perpetual fear that I will inadvertently do or say something which will come back to bite me in the behind. (I would use “butt” but I try to keep this blog clean…for the children.)

Today I had to have my fingerprints digitally scanned. “What is that?” you may be asking.

Or maybe not if you're a big smarty pants. But for those of you who do not know, let me pause for a moment and explain.

You know how I love to give additional info when necessary, and more often than not, where unnecessary.

Digitally scanning fingerprints is a when you go to a special lab and they scan your hand and then each finger individually. That scanned image is then checked against all the prints that the FBI has on file; at least I think it’s the FBI…but do not quote me on that. 

Clearly I am only knowledgeable enough about this to be dangerous; just like when you take psychology and you are convinced that you, personally, should be diagnosed with every mental illness you learn about. (Or maybe that’s just me…) to ensure you're not some trouble maker.

Or someone who got away with a crime from years ago.

Or maybe was somewhere a crime was committed ...thereby making you an accessory to the crime.

This is where I come in. And before your eyes bug out of your head, or perhaps, even worse, you fall off your chair, I must explain!

No, I have most definitely NOT been involved in any illegal activity.

Nor have I been an accessory ...though I have been known for my penchant for accessories: purses, shoes and jewelry to be precise ...but I digress.

This is truly no laughing matter, as this fingerprint scan was the next step in our fostercare license process.

Mr. Always Random had his fingerprint scan last week and passed with flying colors; I wasn’t really concerned.

But...all this rambling to say: I was nervous this morning, knowing I had my appointment. And especially on the way to the scan…I felt a little bit sick.

Again NOT because I had done anything wrong but because I know fingerprints can last for a long time. And being as how college students aren't the cleanliest of people... what if a crime was committed in a place I lived in college and even though it had been years since I lived there, my print was still there and collected as part of the crime scene investigation.

And since my print wasn't previously in the system, and investigators thought the entire case HINGED on that one, solitary, unidentified print…the case has gone unsolved.

Until now.

Because of my desire to help children have a safe place to live and to be cared for, I end up rotting in jail for a crime I didn't commit simply because my print (and a partial print, no less…) came up as a match in an unsolved homicide (yes, I escalated my premonition, the closer it got to my appointment).

And no one will believe me except for a down and out PI without a friend in the world except for a mangy stray (who looks something like Indy) who follows him around.

This is Indy...in case you haven't been introduced...

So if you don’t hear from me for a while, now you’ll know why: the po-po have picked me up, in spite of all my protests of innocence.

Perhaps I'm STILL watching too many crime dramas ...

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