Locked boxes

I'd like to tell my boyfriend "don't EVER leave me at home alone with a locked box for four months again!" -- but, well, then he'd know I'm going crazy over the locked huge box (ok it's a trunk) under our guest bed. Oh yes, if I knew I could open it without leaving any evidence, I'd have a serious problem. Boy would I want to, but I of course wouldn't want to violate him like that. (I was going to replace "him" with "his trust" but then I thought, "trust? what trust? he locked the F*()ing box!!!") In fact, I'd probably be sitting in front of it twitching right now, frozen between morality and my embarrassingly stereotypical freakish-girl tendencies.

So, what the haddock is in the box!?!?!? (Yes, I was thinking about Spongebob and Mr. Krabs just then.) He needed me to find something for him, under that bed, while he was still in VA on his way to Baghdad, and the existence of the locked box was mentioned (by me), along with something like "what, did you think I'd steal something?" He may have mumbled something about "well maybe there's something in there I might want to give you some day." I think that was BS though. I think a long time ago, he once thought about giving me something secret, but at this point, after this much time, I think it's too late for that. BOy, don't *I* sound the psycho girly one again? This is what happens when I have half a glass of red wine with dinner and watch "The Dead Zone." Who would've thought that little freaky skinny Anthony Michael Hall (ala Breakfast Club from 1980-something) would've grown up to be a big strong HOT MAN?!?! And I ramble aimlessly again.

Oh, wait, can I just say how stupid this freaking layout is? What's with the wasted space in the margins?!?!? No purpose whatsoever. Yes, having, oh, 2 or 3 degrees in engineering (2 of them electrical), I should know html by now and have a whizbang custom blog setup. But I don't. So there. I have other fish to fry. A saying I learned from a man who messed me up big time in college, btw. More on him some other time, if I have wine with dinner again, and feel like typing and publishing some damning stories.