Nobody makes it through Life without at least as many failures as successes. In fact, you’d be delighted to make it through a single day without a stumble. But if you do fall flat, you pray the gaffe is only self-inflicted — a one-car accident, so to speak. Sadly, some of your failures have been nothing short of indelible. They simply don’t wash away with time. Uninvited, they visit you often, just show up any time of the day or night, without warning, like Cousin Eddie in Christmas Vacation. Unfortunately, you’ve never been as astonishingly resilient as Clark Griswold. Just grit your teeth behind that fake smile. No, you tend to brood. And you reserve your power brooding for the King of Failures — for the worst of your umpteen bad mistakes — for that one mistake that will live in infamy — the day you willingly sent a rather sizable check to a national political candidate. That one imbecilic act forever changed your life. That one act distributed your name, home address, email address, phone numbers and other personal data to a vast army of demographic analysts and fundraisers. Don’t be surprised if your name and number show up above urinals at highway rest stops. Your stupidity has condemned you to an avalanche of cards, letters, surveys, emails and calls. Your name and address are printed everywhere — on envelopes, at least half a dozen times on attachments, and twice on the carefully designed card that begs you for money. All the messages are urgent, critical. The NRC is especially repugnant with its ubiquitous “opinion and issues surveys.” These “exclusive,” coded documents arrive weekly, advising that you’ve been selected as an Official Survey Delegate. God, what recognition. Why, an old person could pee on himself in exultation. Then, thousands of emails remind you that each of the 400 GOP candidates running for President must have your support — send $13 today. The Governor of your own State sends you heartwarming, personal notes about his great progress; but he can continue doing the good work only with your continued backing — $100, $50, $25 (fill in the blank). Suddenly, your Senators and Representatives remember your name and promise, with your generous support, they will damn well get done what they couldn’t get done in the past, oh, six years. A fundraiser will not be denied. You can return the SASE and its contents with cryptic, even vicious messages; only to reach sightless eyes. You’re on the list, you see; you’re in the database; you have a profile — an analysis of your psychographic, psychogenic, psychosocial, psychometric, psychologic and psychotropic tendencies. Your IP address is up for grabs. Unlike the Godmother of the Clinton Crime Family, you don’t have a private server. Big Brother and all his relatives know what you read, what you watch and what you write. You may not write another check, but no matter; that nag is out of the barn. The bad news is you did indeed reach the pinnacle of stupidity; the good news is that now you can relax and do whatever dumb thing makes you happy. Gotta decide who gets the $13.