I am a hoarder of confidential information.
You may think I don’t have many secrets – after all, I have shared my colonoscopy with you.
And you’ve read about my bad boyfriends, my bad haircuts, my bad habits, my bad career choices.
And you’ve met every member of my family, past and present – who are not bad in any way at all.
Yes, I’m having a very nice ordinary life and it appears I have shared every moment and every trivial thought with a multitude of people I don’t even know.
So not so.
I’m keeping important secrets from my husband.
I’ve already shared one instance where I kept essential info from my husband – (since of course I keep nothing from you guys; only from hubby). It was the time he was a little upset because I didn’t tell him the air conditioning wasn’t working. When I speculated that the recent power outage had screwed up the air-conditioning, he was caught by surprise.
“Why didn’t you tell me that the air-conditioning was out?”
If you missed that episode, you may be thinking he was out of town or something. But no, he was sitting right next to me in the extremely warm house.
But time passes.
All was forgiven.
But this week, my secretive nature led me to the unforgivable. I repeatedly deprived him of critical information.
First, I hid the lint roller. This is a vital implement in my house, since we have four cats.
“I looked everywhere,” he said. “And I ended up having to use half a roll of scotch tape.”
So I showed him where the lint roller was, which happened to be on the counter by the phone where it always is.
“Why did you put it in the corner?” he asked.
I don’t know. I guess I am just sneaky.
Second, I kept him unaware of crucial data that had a horrible impact on his plans. By that I mean: The Weather Report.
He couldn’t mow the lawn. “Why didn’t you tell me it was supposed to rain?”
Because he didn’t have the security clearance for that classified information, that’s why.
And worst of all, he had no access to life-saving medicine.
As we were getting ready for bed last night, Hubby said, “You know, I had something in my eye today, and there were no eyedrops anywhere.”
I opened the medicine cabinet that I admit is difficult to access, since it is slightly to the left of his sink. On the third shelf – which I again admit is slightly higher than eye level – were the eyedrops, which I keep in its original box, since the bottle is small and the label is tiny.
“Why do you have the box facing sideways and not forwards?” he asked. “How am I supposed to find it?”
Which is a really good question.
I think I will have to apply for early retirement.
I have to be home to turn the little box around for him.