...Why?

"Ms. Natividad, this is the bank. I just wanted to confirm a purchase with you. When was the last time you visited Home Depot?"

My heart skipped a beat. Something was clearly amiss. I hate Home Depot -- possibly more than KMart (can you say Big Bland?), but then again, Home Depot smells better. (I enjoy sawdust.)

"NEVER," I spat out, in probably the same tone I'd use if someone accused me of Communist sympathies during the Red Scare.

This is a really long way of saying somebody counterfeited my credit card and used it to buy goods at Home Depot in Florida. And I can't help wondering what they bought with it. Shears? Lumber? A set of French doors?

Because if I blew a few hours of my day to counterfeit a credit card, my thoughts wouldn't approach anything resembling, "HELL YES! Now I can fund all those repairs I need to make."