If my belongings could talk, would I be embarrassed?

Translation: …or would we find other ways to discover your awkward secrets?

Do you ever ponder your own death? I do, but not in the aspect you’d think. Personally, as long as I go out in a ball of fury (think high speed car chase a la Thelma and Louise) I’m ok with my own death. What frightens me more than anything is all the crazy shit my family will find when they go through my belongings. But thankfully, I’m not dead yet! (Couldn’t resist a Monty Python reference)

Whoever has the unfortunate task of sorting through my storage locker…I’m sorry and embarrassed all at the same time. When you find the blue bin marked “Textbooks” just light it on fire. There are no textbooks in that bin, no, I wrote “Textbooks” all over it in hopes you’d find that so mundane you’d automatically throw it out, but…what is inside is haunting audibly, visually, and tactilely. When you remove the lid your face will recant in horror—because you had no idea someone with such impeccable taste as myself could ever stoop to such a low…and no one else needs to know I’ve held on to every item of Spice Girls merchandise released before the year 2000. The horror, the shame…the morbid curiosity as to why (we were all 12 year old girls once. Most of us anyway).

Yeah, that got you thinking. When you die, that beanie baby collection you thought was secret (I’m talking to you, men ages 20 and up)—BAM—EXPOSED. The insane amounts of pornography you’ve collected over the years (I’m talking to you, ladies ages 20 and up) –BAM—EXPOSED. So when you die your family finds out you are actually a large man-child with a Peter Pan complex who wasn’t hugged enough as a baby or an insane sex addict with a penchant for Chuck Norris look-a-like porn’s. You just looked like someone who was into receiving a roundhouse kick post coitus but no one ever mentioned it aloud.

These are not the final memories you want to take with you to the grave. Your eulogy should read nothing of the hidden Hannah Montana DVD collection you’ve been keeping secret for five years under that loose floorboard. I could not think of a more embarrassing epitaph than “Here lies John – State wrestling champion turned Clay Aiken fanclub president.” I’m sensing those two could somehow be related, and deleting your browser history is recommended weekly.

Let’s face it, I don’t care who you are- there are some things about you that you do not want anyone in the world- let alone (ahem, especially) your family finding out about you. Some people keep toe nail clippings in a jar hidden in the back of their closet. Others buy used chewing gum off eBay. What’s worse, some of them even chew it again before putting it back (if you thought ABC gum was just for 5th graders…so wrong). Whatever floats your absurdly peculiar little boat, friends. You’ve got so many secrets it’s more like a dinghy floating into a dark abyss. Hehe, I said dinghy. Anywho…

If you don’t want people to know you’ve held on to incriminating articles that could be used to ridicule you after you’re gone and totally unable to defend yourself (imagine the fodder over the Thanksgiving table…your collection of Backstreet Boys memorabilia fueling the conversation…) my advice to you is- invest in an uncrackable safe only you know the combination to. In the event of your death make sure that thing is BURIED WITH YOU. Because we all know the saying “I’ll take it with me to my grave” is so much more meaningful when you’re talking a notebook full of Justin Bieber news clippings, and not secrets.

But please, feel free to share your dirty little secrets with me. We can dish over a bowl of popcorn while we watch one of my four copies of the movie SpiceWorld. People of the world, Spice up your life…