Secrets. They are sticky buggers, aren't they? I find myself in the middle of the story lately. The middle of the page. Page 112 out of 347. The headline news finds its way to my desk (figuratively and literally) but it is wrapped in a neat little package marked 'SECRET' in scary red ink.
"I know something you don't know" plays in my head in the sing-songy child's voice that reminds me of the church playground, and all the girls would run around with gossip spilling from their lips.
Lately I've found myself "in the know" shall we say on a lot of different topics, that I can't divulge, share, embellish on or even mention in the company of others. Some fun things, some not so fun things.
I'm all for knowing, but it's the "not sharing with others" is the hard part.
My lips are sealed, mon ami.
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