Shhhh "it's" in the garage

When my kids ask me -- I can hold my hand to heart and say "I never, ever bought drugs." That either makes me REALLY virtuous ... or a total mooch. Since I don't want to jeopardize any future opportunity of becoming town dog-catcher, I'll leave you to guess.

Yet, I now possess something that would make a Glaucoma patient happier than a Thanksgiving Day Sale at Lens Crafters.

You see, my friend Nila moved back to Singapore and didn't want to carry anything along that might harm her immigration status.

I found her giggling uproariously behind a tree as she enjoyed a last little bit of Americana at her farewell party. She stumbled forward to give me a big good-bye hug and thrust the crumpled Gap bag into my arms.

"Oh my God, I can't bring this back to Asia ... give it a good home!"

Never one to turn away orphans, I eagerly adopted Nila's cast-off.

We sped home to relieve the sitter ... before I had to pay her in empties, and I tucked my new charge safely into a cabinet in the garage. I peeked in once before closing the door and the scent brought back hilarious sense memories. I snickered in the dark garage and then skipped upstairs with a new bounce in my step.

"It" has been with us now for two months and I haven't paid a single visit. Not that I don't think about it often.

Believe you me, I am no model of self-restraint, I have just been enjoying "It" differently. Just like vacation brochures offer the thrill of glorious possibility that is often better than the actual event -- my little cabinet friend has become "mother's little helper" just by being there.

On those days nothing goes right and the children are revolting -- I'll look at my husband with a conspiratorial smirk and say "I'm going downstairs ... heh-heh-heh."

Bad day at the office and I'll throw out ... "Time for me to go clean the garage ... boooh yeah!!!"

It makes me feel all tingly just thinking about it. If I actually partook .... then it would end with the same disappointing thud you get when you open your last Christmas present.

Its irreplaceable. I mean, I have no idea where I could ever get more once it was gone. OK, that part is a lie -- but I'd probably have to pay for it, and I'm not that kind of girl. I have principles to uphold.

Lately however, my double-stuffed life is pushing me closer to shoving my face in that plastic bag until I pass out.

Last night as the phone rang off the hook and the kids bounced off the walls ... I yelled "No Woman No Cry, Mon!" at my husband and told him I was garage-bound for real.

"And what makes you think it's still there?!" He yelled back.

I stared at him with saucer eyes and stumbled to the couch. That is a possibility too awful to contemplate. And this Buffalo Soldier is not going to look.