Reader’s mind: “Now what’s that shit?”
Writer’s mind: “My readers own and use dictionaries.”
We all have secrets; it is the way of the world. You don’t just walk up to people and spew your life story. Although, I did meet one of my best friends that way; a fact that she vehemently denies to date. Nobody is an open book (well not completely, refer to Rumpelstiltskin.)
Even the unfortunate people with no personalities, have secrets. Their moves are predictable but at the end of the day the vast wasteland they call their brain has a few dull encounters that although we have no interest to excavate, know nothing about. (Thank God)
Then there’s the rumour mill. Most of the times it’s full of shit and other times has an ounce of truth. But it is never unadulterated. There are three sides to a story; my version, your version and the truth. I’ve heard a few rumours about myself and I never seek to refute or dispel them, mainly because I have no time for that shit. But also, like medusa, I’ll have to deal with it by cutting off the head and who really knows for certain the source of such malicious blab! Things are not openly made known for obvious reasons. It’s a dog eat dog world and you gots to keep some things to yourself or else you’ll be eaten! Well not literally…unless you live in a remote island with cannibals.
Before Facebook and Twitter, normal humans kept their love lives somewhat private. The rumour mill only got hold of the identity of Captain douche-bag’s latest slutty victim a few weeks after he had uhmm taken that car for a ride (te-hee the euphemism was spot on.) Not that such information was a secret; it just got out a lot slower than it does now. Yes, social networks have robbed us of our privacy, but in all fairness, we freely succumb to this invasion of privacy. And that’s just it, it is your choice to “rat yourself out”. But sometimes it is only 50% your choice.
I was having a conversation with some of my terribly intelligent female friends and the number one thing that constantly came up was guys that kiss and tell. Knowledge of a man’s sexual encounters is very rarely a bad thing. He gets props for that kind of thing…barbarians, I tell you! It’s not the same for women. No woman wants details of their sexual exploits as the topic of other people’s conversation; unless of course it is with her close friends (that’s like four or five girls at the most.) and the conversation is to NEVER be repeated! So I have come up with a plan…THE LOVE CONTRACT. Before you engage in any form of intimacy with a man he has to sign said contract to keep the events secret. A life or death contract. Simple as pie. But then again, it is 2012…be a big girl, what is done in the dark will come to light. If you have the balls to do it, have the balls to walk it out when it gets out.