Illustration by Bob AulWhen you joked at your dinner party that you were in need of a painkiller, you told me all I needed to know: that somewhere in your house—probably the bathroom medicine chest—I'd find one. I did. And not just one, but an entire bottle—29 out of 30 prescribed two years ago. I took them all. Cleaned you out. Your cute little daughter actually saw me, but she is nearly incapable of recognizable speech, so I figured I was safe. I was. I regret the act and wish I could stop, but I can't even tell my husband I'm an addict. Shortly after I stole all of your Vicodin tabs, I was finished with them and wondering where I'll get more. I'd feel bad if I weren't feeling so good.
Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to "Hey, You!" c/oOC Weekly, P.O. Box 10788, Costa Mesa, CA 92627-0247, or e-mail us at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Get the ICYMI: Today's Top Stories Newsletter Our daily newsletter delivers quick clicks to keep you in the know
Catch up on the day's news and stay informed with our daily digest of the most popular news, music, food and arts stories in Orange County, delivered to your inbox Monday through Friday.