“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Fine, what were her reasons?”
Oh, so we’re there...
Grunge Pixie reads. Who taught her that? I swear it wasn’t me. Most of her attributes are cute and sweet; this one’s borderline intrusive. She’s reading posts on D360. Two posts in particular: one from a woman I thought was my friend, another from somebody I barely even know. The pixie has mixed these things up into a Molotov cocktail of joy.
“Got a light?”
“Of course I do. You’re…uhm…gonna lob that thing at me, aren’t you?”
FWOOM!
That’s right. There’s nothing worse than a lit fuse question to engulf a morning. My morning began last week. Set the Way-back machine and we’ll be on our way. Ready Sherman?
“Of course I’m ready, and don’t call me Sherman.”
Yeah, sorry, we’ll undo that joke before we come back, I promise.
Last week a friend of mine asked a question on D360. She’d just dismounted the divorce horse, and she was thinking about riding a tandem bicycle, but wasn’t sure she remembered how. She’d asked the good D360 folk if they could share a few questions to ask her riding partner, when she found one. I thought it was great. I left a post. I even suggested a few questions, cuz I’m nothing if not inquisitive. We all need to spice things up with a few questions!
This got the good Grunge Pixie thinking. “I need to ask you questions!” I hate when she thinks. She gets ideas, and ideas are best left for people who don’t know what to do with them. Ideas are atomic bombs. Ask Oppenheimer how that idea blew up in his face. Only this pixie was aiming for my face. She was melting it with new questions:
“Who is buried in your backyard?”
“Nobody.”
“No body nobody, or ‘you don’t want to be an accomplice after the fact’ nobody?”
“Both?”
“uh-huh…”
This led to a long discussion of fruit trees, mulch beds and Cosmo’s collection of bones. Still, she asked the questions, and I believe in full disclosure. Why would I lie? I trust her. I don’t have secrets. I answered honestly.
That’s why I was really dismayed to find out that not only does she read D360, she reads it thoroughly. This led to more questions.
See, I’d tried comforting somebody who was having divorce pangs. I’d mentioned that I didn’t agree with MyEx’s reasons for leaving, but I did understand them as important reasons to MyEx. Hear that sound? That’s the electric can opener. I’ve just pulled a can of worms from the pantry. Come join me; we’re opening them up!
Within a half hour of my post, I get an email from GP.
“So what were her reasons?”
“Shouldn’t you be working?”
“Are you gonna answer the question or dance like you’ve gotta pee?”
“I do gotta pee…”
“Go, then answer the question.”
“Which question?”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“Fine, what were her reasons?”
Great, now there are worms everywhere…
Now I’m questioning this full disclosure policy. Do I trust her? Should I lie? Where did she get all these questions? Who told her that questions were a good idea? I have secrets!
Oh, wait. She reads my blog…
That part about the secrets? That’s a lie.
It’s not that I’m that private. I write a blog for heaven’s sake! Where is the privacy in that? Still, like I said, MyEx had her reasons. What if that’s the one thing Grunge Pixie has in common with her? I’ve come to grips with the divorce, but I don’t want it in the way when I’m trying to meet somebody. I’m not private; I’m scared. What do I do?
I tell her. That’s what I do, because that is what makes me, me. Full disclosure. If she shares reasons, then I’m better off knowing now. Really, most of it she can read here, maybe she has. Maybe she’s looking for verification. On the other hand there are things I haven’t said. Not because I’m afraid of you dear reader, no. I’ve kept them to myself because they relate more to MyEx than me. I blog so that you can see me; MyEx is private, and I try to respect that.
I respect Grunge Pixie, and I answered her questions as best as I could, because I do believe that communication ruined my marriage. I won’t repeat that mistake with any relationship.
When I was done, GP asked a few more questions. I answered those. Then we talked. It was quit a conversation.
You know what she didn’t do? She didn’t flit away. That meant a lot to me. I haven’t told her that, but she’ll figure it out. She reads.
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