There is no such thing as a secret. The moment "secret" information is told to another person, the secret no longer exists. Mr. and Mrs. Zuckerman can't keep a secret, and neither can Lurvy. That's what Charlotte counts upon. The inherent need for human beings to share secrets. Because, really, a secret isn't any good unless you whisper it to somebody else.
I'm a fairly private person. This blog is the closest I get to broadcasting news about my life, and I don't share everything. Some information is simply meant to remain secret. Private. For instance, when my wife and I found out she was pregnant the first time, we immediately shared the news. We were so happy, and we wanted to share that happiness. The second time my wife got pregnant, much had changed. We had gone through quite a few struggles in our marriage, including a year-long separation. We weren't quite so anxious to share our good news. We wanted to keep the happiness to ourselves for a while. Enjoy the pleasure that accompanies having a "good" secret.
I'm not writing this because my wife is pregnant. Lord, no. And I don't have any particular secret at the moment. There are a few things I'm working on that, eventually, will see the light of the sun. But, at the moment, I prefer to keep them locked away in a cabinet. Good news or bad, secrets don't stay secrets forever. Unless you're J. Edgar Hoover, and, even then, someone's going to find the high heels and stockings in your closet eventually.
Once upon a time, a man lived in the middle of the woods. He was the kingdom's Secret Keeper. Whenever people had secrets, they would travel deep into the forest, to the Secret Keeper's cottage, knock on his window, and, when the Secret Keeper came to the window, they would whisper their secrets to him. Then they would go home, unburdened.
The Secret Keeper heard all kinds of secrets. He knew the blacksmith was having an affair with the baker's wife. He knew the tax collector was skimming off the top of the castle treasury. He knew the dog catcher was in an amorous relationship with his horse. The Secret Keeper knew everything, and his job was to keep the secrets. No matter what.
On his birthday one year, the Secret Keeper decided to open a bottle of wine to celebrate. He sat by his window and drank and drank. By evening, he was completely drunk. That's when the King knocked on his window to whisper a secret to him.
The Secret Keeper quietly opened his window.
"I have a secret," the King whispered.
"Go on," the Secret Keeper hiccuped.
"I've been sleeping with the scullery maid who cleans my bed chamber," the King said.
"Oh," the Secret Keeper laughed, "is that the same scullery maid who washes the queen's hair?"
"Yes," the King said.
"Well," the Secret Keeper sighed, "I wouldn't worry about it. The queen's sleeping with her, too."
"What?!" the King roared.
"Yup," the Secret Keeper said, taking another slug from his wine bottle. "And the scullery maid just found out she caught a case of crabs from the Prince, who's been making the Royal Cook's dough rise, if you know what I mean."
"My son is sleeping with the scullery maid, too?" the King said.
"And the cook," the Secret Keeper said. "From what I understand, he makes special cupcake deliveries to the Prince, the Princess, and the Queen Mother."
"He's sleeping with my mother?!" the King stammered.
"Ever since she found out that your father was actually her brother," the Secret Keeper said.
The King fainted in front of the window.
The Secret Keeper leaned out the window and looked down at the King. "I don't know what his problem is," the Secret Keeper said. "It's not like I told him that the Prince is using his goblet for a chamber pot."
Moral of the story: Secret Keepers are really mean drunks.
And Saint Marty lived happily every after.
|Amen to that!|