A DAY IN THE LIFE: AN UNUSUAL SUSPECT

It is constantly being brought to my attention that I look younger than I am. Most often by stocky men demanding identification before they will allow me to enter their establishments.

Many also say I have a certain look of innocence about me, which annoys me to no end. I'd rather look like Antonio Banderas in "Desperado." Instead I look like Don Knotts in "Private Eyes."

Well, I was happy to learn last week that not everyone thinks I'm so innocent looking. I know this because someone called the police and accused me of purse snatching.

That's right, me, your friendly neighborhood reporter. Apparently, I'm nothing but a low-life thief.

I can almost imagine the phone conversation:

"Yello, Jackson Police Department."

"Yes, my name is Mrs. Name Withheld to Protect the Innocent, and I want to report a purse snatching."

"Shoot."

"I saw a young man running across the parking lot at New McKendree Church last night with a purse. He threw it in his car and sped away. It looked to me like he was stealing it. These days I might not find a man with a purse too peculiar, but they didn't even match his shoes."

"What color was the purse?"

"Well, it was sort of brown, but it was dark and I couldn't really tell."

"What was he wearing?"

"Well, he was wearing a black jacket and he kind of looked like Antonio Banderas in `Desperado.' But I think he must be a white-collar criminal because he was wearing a tie, slacks and black shoes."

"Hmmm. Black shoes and a brown purse. That certainly is a fashion faux pas. We'll get someone right on it."

And I must admit, the Jackson PD did some incredible detective work. After the caller told them what I looked like, what I was driving and what I was wearing, they immediately knew it was me. Oh, she also told them my license plate number.

Sherlock Holmes would be impressed.

But it gets worse.

Guess who the police called when they got the report? They called the owner of the car. Not too surprising.

Did I mention I was driving my future father-in-law's car?

Insert the expletive of your choice here.

I can almost imagine the phone conversation:

"Hello, sir, this is the Jackson Police Department. Is this the owner of a 1978 Malibu Classic with the license plate ME STUD?"

"Yes, but currently my son-in-law is driving it. Has there been an accident?"

"Not exactly, sir. We've just got a call suggesting that someone driving this car last night may have stolen a purse."

"What?"

"That's right. The boy marrying your daughter is a thief."

Great.

So, of course, he called me, slightly concerned. He tried to sound like he didn't believe it, but I could tell he was ... concerned.

"You stay away from my little girl, you *@!!!% thief."

And I told him what I'm about to tell you.

Of course I am not a thief. I didn't steal a purse on that cold early spring night.

That purse was just lying there in that car. I found it.

Seriously, though, I guess thinking about it I can imagine why the lady thought she saw what she did. I was guilty of several things that she accused me of, running across the New McKendree church parking lot, throwing an object that sort of looked like a purse into my car and speeding away.

But I have an explanation, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I had just spent the night covering Mr. Good Garden's speech at the weekly meeting of Single Together. It was late I was cold. I was supposed to meet a friend in Cape in 15 minutes.

That's why I was running and that's why I sped away, suspicious only if I was indeed stealing something.

What about the purse?

It was a camera bag. I had to take pictures of Mr. Good Garden.

I mean, come on, I would never, EVER carry a brown purse and wear black shoes.

~Scott Moyers is the editor of the Jackson USA Signal.