The Not-So-Private Matter

Until a few years ago, when I started helping out part-time at my husband’s office, I had no idea how much he talked about me.

At the office, DH talks to everyone about me—the patients, his assistants, his hygienists, the UPS man, the mail carrier, and anyone else who happens to wander in.

Once DH and I were discussing a private matter. I suggested, “You know, sweetie, I’d like to keep this between us, at least for now.” A couple of weeks later, one of his assistants came up to me and said, “You know he’s telling everyone about that, don’t you?”

That evening, we were getting ready to meet a couple of friends for dinner, and I asked him not to bring up the so-called private matter. “R & L already know about that!” he objected. “Yes, sweetie—they know about it because YOU TOLD THEM.”

If we have an argument, which is rare, I hear it replayed down the hall. The other day I heard DH telling a patient about how many space heaters I have running at home in the winter. The space heaters become larger and more numerous with each re-telling.

As you can tell from the gist of this narrative, DH’s “open book” policy isn’t a serious issue. Sometimes it’s kind of flattering. If he’s talking about me this much, he must be thinking of me a lot.

I’ve made peace with the fact that my life is an open book.

I just hope he never learns to blog.