Identity Theft. It's a terrifying prospect, if you're anyone except me. I feel a bit wistful when I see it in the headlines: ARE YOU SAFE FROM IDENTITY THEFT? Sadly, yes. Safer than a gold bar in Fort Knox, because I have an identity that no one on earth would want. The luckless soul who lifted my identity by accident would be all too easy to track down. He or she would be advertising in every newspaper on the planet begging someone else to take my identity off his or her desperate hands.

One thing I've been dying to ask someone ever since I first heard of identity theft: If someone steals my identity, do I get theirs, or do I simply cease to exist? Do I become the thief, or do I become nobody? Either is better than being me.

Maybe if I get the thief's identity in exchange for mine, I can take my new--possibly childless--self with a new credit score, and move to Australia. I can see myself--my new self, the nonentity or the thief--sunning blissfully among the koala bears and the karri trees.

"G'day, mate, an' 'oo moight you be?"
"Not sure--either no one, or whoever stole my identity. Happy to make your acquaintance."

It delights me to no end to imagine my identity-stealer suddenly saddled with my ex-husband. I wish the new me all the luck and good lawyers in the world. Will the thief's former self (now me) have a past, with disastrous relationships and failed marriages? Will their old flames keep turning up like bad pennies? Not a problem. No matter who I'll have slept with or married before in my new incarnation, I'll be trading up. Unlike my ex, they were most likely members of my species, and I'll take them on gladly.

Whoever I swap identities with is certain to have more money than me, unless s/he came from a parallel universe with negative dollars. My love life, too, can only improve by assuming a new identity, or even by becoming a phantasm. God knows worse luck in the romance department than mine is impossible, unless one is a male praying mantis. Unlike that poor creature, I have never been cannibalized during a sexual encounter. I understand the female mantis actually devours her mate headfirst (no doubt because he left so much hair on the bathroom sink--AGAIN--that the sink gave birth and nursed its young). My love life has never been lethal, it has only always made me wish I were dead.

Perhaps this strikes you as a shade on the pessimistic side. I don't mean to suggest that being me is all minuses and no plusses. My children are kind, respectful and unfailingly considerate. And then they wake up. Besides, when the thief and I swap selves, the new me will find him- or herself a good Methodist, a mediocre yoga practitioner and a superb grower of parsley. She or he will acquire the ability to forego any and all temptations of the flesh, through long years of practice.

Hmm. Talking of temptations, I wonder what character flaws I will inherit from that charlatan, that shyster, that beloved identity thief? The mere thought makes me shudder--with anticipation. I may find myself irresistibly drawn to gambling, to extortion, to piracy. Shiver me timbers. Maybe I'll switch genders, and be able to age like the Evil Emperor Palpatine, put on 50 pounds, go completely bald, and still look in the mirror and see a sexy 20-year-old.

How great would that be? I can't wait--but I wouldn't want to lose track of the new me altogether. She will be sure to need my guidance. Is it allowed, I wonder, to write letters to your identity thief?

December 23, 2008

Dear New Me:

I trust you and all of my children are well. Was that your agent I spotted in Sotheby's last month during my London holiday, trying to auction off your new identity (my old one) to the highest bidder? What a stirring moment that was when, at your agent's signal, the auctioneer went down on his knees and lifted his hands in supplication. No one even bid a ha'penny, worse luck. The Ebay fiasco should have taught you that it was wasted effort.

Sorry, old hat, about the bankruptcy and all, meaning you can't even get a line of credit at K-Mart, but that's the way the cookie crumbles--and speaking of cookies, my children like theirs home-baked, and unless you want a riot on your hands, don't even think about adding any raisins.

About my ex--I'm sorry he wheedled and spanked your cell phone number and private email address out of the kids again. Keep in mind what my second-to-last therapist always told me: Don't get a victim mentality. You're only stalked if you choose to be. If you get a child support check from him, take my advice--frame a photo of it before you cash it, then notify Ripley's Believe It or Not.

While I'm apologizing, sorry about that $450.00 auto insurance premium. People kept parking and driving where I was trying to back up. Oh, and a few reminders:

1. The spelling words all have to be given out to all of the children every school night, Monday through Thursday. Give them out during basketball and volleyball matches if necessary. The coaches will work with you.
2. The parsley likes to be lightly misted of an afternoon.
3. I was just about to have the housecat neutered before you took my identity, so get him to the vet before he pees on your pillow, 'k?

Kindest Regards, and a Happy Holiday,

Old You

Yes, I would write, and not only at Christmas. I would write on my former birthday too--long, affectionate letters like this one. I would never leave my darling identity thief in the lurch with no idea how to go about being me. That would be the grossest ingratitude on my part. My identity snatcher should do exactly what I've always done, with class and panache and, if necessary, double the Xanax. I just need to figure how to get my identity good and stolen. The welcome wagon has been dispatched, the red carpet rolled out, for any schmuck who wants to be me. Are there any tutorials on how to get people to steal your identity? Can you sort of put your identity out there, like bait, in cyberspace, and pray that someone will bite? I'm going to make it happen, so help me, and in the meanwhile, I'm fantasizing about moving to Australia. As anyone. I'm not picky.