Don't Label My Love
Last night I got into bed and snuggled up to Timmi, as per usual bedtime procedure. As I got comfortable and sleepy, I ran my hand up her side, and felt something unusual. It was a sticker, or a patch, something of that ilk.
I ran my fingers over it, and it was fairly large and round, and I couldn't think of a single reason why it would be there. I also couldn't figure out how Timmi didn't know it was there, stuck to her skin halfway up her side.
Eventually I could take the mystery no further and woke her up.
J: Honey? I'm sorry to wake you up, but what is this on your side?
T: Uh… wha? (Admittedly, she was pretty sleepy at this point still)
J: Here, on your side. It's a sticker or something. What is it? Are you on the patch?
T: The patch? What do you mean?
J: You know, the patch — like for nicotine or something.
T: What, you think I took up smoking in secret and then went on the patch in secret to shake the habit?
At this point she had located the sticker herself though, and with a mutter along the lines of "WTF?" she peeled it off, put it on her bedside table, and promptly fell asleep again.
I, on the other hand, was not so lucky.
I lay there for what seemed like hours, staring into space, wondering what the sticker was. If I knew where she had put it, I would have gotten up, taken it out of the room and examined it, but I didn't know where it was exactly, and I felt too guilty waking her up again.
So instead I let my mind wander and wander, trying to think of an explanation. Eventually, I fell asleep and had troubled dreams.
The next morning I asked her if she had saved the sticker, and fortunately she had. It was black and oval, a little bigger than a toonie. It said simply, "High Impact".
She said it must have been a label on some clothes she had been trying on earlier that day, and sure, that's plausible, but I'm looking for better, more conspiracy-laden theories — so let's hear 'em!