Call me, Jimbo...

Back on September 18, just as my campaign was starting to enter the home stretch, I attended my 35th year high school class reunion. If you believe Hollywood, class reunions are supposed to be torturous affairs no one wants to attend but does so out of a sense of duty. Or maybe just to see if others are aging better or worse than you are.

Not so with Wyoming Area's class of 1975. Our reunions are a blast. We have a great time. And I'm happy to report that we still have the hottest-looking women of any class that ever attended that district.

On that note, my story begins. When I pulled into the parking lot at the reunion, I was driving "campaign central" old red Buick with a magnetic campaign sign slapped on the door. This made me an easy target for a practical joke. When your name's on the door, everyone knows which car is yours.

The reunion was great, and it was well after dark when I headed home. The next morning I was about to drive to church when I found this under my windshield wiper:

Give me ring, Jimbo...

So which of those gorgeous ladies planted this on the car (instead of planting one on me)?

It's a mystery.

But it gets better. About a week after finding that card under my visor, I was driving my daughter up to Misericordia.

"Hey Dad?" she asked. "Why is there lipstick on your window?"

Sure enough, the window on the driver's side door had a big, fat lipstick-kiss planted on the glass.

I thought about getting DNA evidence. Maybe sending a scraping of the lipstick to the FBI crime lab.

But in the end I realized that for the next five years I'll have to live in suspense. Maybe at the 40th reunion someone will fess up. On the other hand, perhaps I'll never know whose lips planted one on my Buick.

Or maybe one day decades from now, when I'm on my last legs in some hospital bed, I'll wake up from a snooze to the sound of someone leaving my room. I'll glance around, foggy-headed, and then I'll see it: There, on my IV bag, a big, fat lipstick-kiss. I'll leave the planet with a smile on my face.

(Popey: if those lips were yours, I'll come back and haunt your sorry butt!)

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