Violated

In my lifetime, I have been robbed thrice. (You're welcome Conan O'Brien.) The first time was in 1990 when my precious Toyota Corolla was stolen right out of the driveway of my apartment in Providence. Two years later, the radio I had gingerly bestowed beneath the passenger seat in my Jetta was ripped from its hiding place. And in 1993, Brendan and I watched from the window of a Burlington, VT restaurant as our mountain bikes were snatched from the rack on my car. Heady with adrenaline, we gave chase to our "his and her" thugs, eventually getting our bikes back. In every instance, no matter the value of the stolen goods, the violation felt the same. Heavy and unbelievable with an undiluted dose of adrenaline for good measure. I felt completely blindsighted and betrayed and every related detail was beyond my scope of understanding. Last week, it happened again. Someone impersonated me on Facebook. Someone (presumably one of my Facebook "Friends") invested the five minutes it took to guess that my password was rowanaidan (how clever Claudia - let's string together your eldest children's names to create a FB password) and post a bogus status as me. Let this be a cautionary tale. Always choose passwords with great care and never be afraid to remove your rose colored glasses every now and again. Wow, I can see clearly now.