Thursday, July 5, 2012

My Dirty Little Secret

Psst … I have a secret for you. Or maybe I don’t. Not really anyway. Because, quite frankly, if I want something to be known – I say it. And if I don’t – I don’t. And if you’ve read this blog before you likely have figured it out by now that I’m a sharer. There’s not too much about myself that I’m not willing to tell you. Oh sure, there are some things. Everyone has some things (though to be fair it’s not like I’m holding back any major doozies here ... I’m not hiding unknown involvement in an underground drug/sex/Cuban cigar ring, I’m not performing bizarre genetic breeding techniques in my basement in an effort to create some sort of adorable purse-size hamster/Pekinese hybrid that I can sell on the black market (although I think I did just stumble on a brilliant idea here), I’m not sporting a forbidden membership to the female version of “Fight Club” and I’m not secretly a dude or anything like that … so it’s not like there’s any major skeletons in that closet of mine). But, don’t worry, I’m never going to put you in the position of swearing you to secrecy over something. Because I don’t work that way. And, honestly, I don’t want to be your secret keeper either. I’m not good at it. It doesn’t sit well with a sharer like me. Oh sure – I can do it. I can. But I will hate it.

When my sister told me she was pregnant “but you can’t tell anyone!” it was, essentially, like entering me into some sort of water torture. Every day I knew this secret and I was so excited. I wanted to scream it to the world! Dole out the news in big heaping handfuls to everyone I met! Shout it out on Facebook! But I couldn’t – not until she was ready. Drip. Drip. Drip. Every single day this torturous, slow, drawn out drip until finally, at her long last command, the floodgates opened and I was finally free – FREE!!! And I practically ran around like a headless chicken – no, that’s wrong, I was nothing BUT the head – squawking repeatedly (whether you cared to hear it or not) “I’m going to be an Aunt!!!!!!” (The longer you make me wait to share the big news the more exclamation points get attached to the end of my declaration when I’m finally let loose to share it.)

So, yeah, that’s what it’s like for me when you tell me a secret. From now on, please don’t. I’m flattered that you want to confide in me – really I am – but don’t.

But I know that secret telling ... secret keeping ... these are the cornerstones of a BFF relationship. Women have this give and take that's expected of them and it's what makes one person your must trusted confidant. But what's a girl like me to do? I don't hold secrets and share them with just my most favorite friend – I hand them out like party favors: You get one, and you get one, and you get one – thanks for being a friend! It's like an episode of Oprah's Favorite Things. I'm the slut of secret giving – everyone gets a little taste.

It’s not like I’m totally putting myself out there. I’m not walking around with my heart on my sleeve. My emotions can, at times, be really hard to guess. But I'm easy to get to. Simple to unlock. There's no special code – If I’ve neglected to say something out loud (which, come on, is pretty rare), then you only have to ask. And then wait for all the beans to be spilled. And it's that sort of “giving” attitude towards sharing all those little bits of my life that can make another gal feel not so special around me. I mean, if I'm just giving it away to EVERYONE then it’s not really so great, is it?

I guess I could try to be more withholding. I've always dreamed of being that woman who's mysterious ... hard to read (you know, the type of woman that men always SAY they want but, when they try to deal with her for any extended period of time end up becoming frustrated with and eventually, once they do somehow figure out how to get her in bed, completely lose interest in her because, eh, the thrill is gone). Right now I'm about as difficult to see through as a pane of freshly Windexed glass (which, incidentally – going back to my previous point – always worked really well for me when it came to men. I’ve always found that the blunt “I’m interested, you interested?” approach leads to a really high success rate … not to mention that it’s a whole heck of a lot more efficient than secretly pining over someone for ages). But perhaps I should try to smudge up the windows a bit – cast some clouds ...

But, nope, I can't. I just can't. I am not an enigma wrapped inside a riddle. I can't play the game. And I don't want to either. But don't worry, you're still very special to me. I just express myself more openly than most. And I don’t bother with the turmoil and drama and decoding that comes along with being in the secret keeping business. But this personality “flaw” of mine doesn’t have to come between us, does it? After all, it should be a good thing (unless I suddenly find myself in need of going into the witness protection program, in which case I’m fucked). Nonetheless, if you’re feeling like you know me a little too well and you’re tired of hearing every single little thing about me just imagine how my husband, GAR, must feel – I tell that man literally EVERYTHING. Repeatedly. Ad nauseum. Imagine having to live like that. The man is seriously a saint.

So are we cool? Great. Now, let me tell you about the time I ...

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