I shouldn't have answered the door.
When I DID, I was confronted by a tall dude in a dark suit, with some seriously '80's aviators, surrounded by a cloud of Drakkar Noir and sporting a serious case of "I am very Important."
Said Legend in His Own Mind asked for the wee ginger midget by name. Full, legal name.
"What. The fucking. Fuck?" (I actually said this to the man.)
He flashed a badge and indicated that he was investigating a massive case of ID theft and credit fraud, and he wanted to interview his suspect right away, or I would be facing some serious obstruction of justice and accessory charges. Blah blah blah blah.
OK. Settle down there, Beretta. Let me see that ID again. I called the husband, who made a few inquiring phone calls and determined that the guy was a legit Fed.
I examined the badge again, and stepped out on to the front porch to politely explain that he was seriously off on a goose chase, and needed to go investigate his own ass off my property. Cue minor puffery and sputtering.
I leaned in the door and collared OctoBoy, and told him to fetch his sister.
"Ah! She IS here!" he crowed triumphantly.
Out skipped Herself, red ponytail, red glitter shoes and red princess flamenco dance dress, to ask what we needed. Douchebag visibly deflated.
"This is wee Ginger Midget. Say Hi, honey!'
"Hi! I am playing Sasquatch-hunting dancing princess. OctoBoy is being the dragon and Fierce GSD is my pony. Bitey is being the Sasquatch....."on she went.
He politely asked her name, which she gave. He asked her how old she was. She beamed, "FIVE!" and held up the requisite number of fingers. He asked her whet grade she was in, and she babbled about her various Kindergarten adventures without taking a breath for three straight minutes.
She was then free to go Squatchin' with her brother.
He was clearly disappointed and frustrated. I went up to my office and retrieved the Smother File, which has various copies and records, going back at least 20 years, detailing the breadth and depth of my biological mom's financial fuckery, and all the various times she had used SnarkGirl's SSN and mine to obtain credit. The folder is about three inches thick thus far, and I suspect it will be gaining at least another ream of papers soon.
Well, now she's been using Ginger Midget's. To the tune of about ten grand.
I sent him off with a folder of contact numbers, previous investigators we have worked with, attorneys and other types, and told him we'd be happy to cooperate.
God fucking damn it.
