I am terrible when it comes to keeping a secret, good or bad. I will tell my wife about some lame-brained stunt I pulled, knowing full well that she will fill my ears with “I told you so’s.” And what’s sad is there is no plausible reason why I had to tell her in the first place. The day I fell out of my boat while fishing was a perfect example.
Believe me, it was not a funny fall out of the boat situation, it was a scary fall out of the boat situation. With water soaked clothes pulling me down, I honestly thought I was about to drown. In a final desperate lunge I grabbed the side of the boat, moved around to its rear, wrapped my legs around the fins on my outboard motor and clung to it for dear life. And I stayed there for over a hour and a half until my boat finally drifted to a shoreline. But the bottom line was, there was no need to tell her.
When I returned home my wife was off somewhere doing whatever it is she does. Though I still changed out of my fishing clothes, they had dried, leaving my not-working cell phone as the only evidence of what had happened. And a simple answer of I dropped it in the water would have sufficed. But noooooo! That would have been far too simple. When she saw the fogged face of my cell phone on the kitchen counter she asked me what had happened. And then next thing I know I’m spilling my guts out with every last frightening detail in color by Technicolor. And just as I knew would happen, for the next hour I listened to her tirades covering the full gauntlet of everything from not wearing a lifejacket to the dangers of fishing alone. And as in all other similar situations, while the rants rolled off her lips like the plagues of Egypt, I asked myself…WHY!! Why did I tell her? And that brings us to Christmas gifts….I know, suddenly I have shocked you into another time zone, but bare with me.
Finally. Finally, for the first time in memory I actually bought my wife a Christimas gift I knew she would be tickled pink to get, and would have been a complete and total surprise. If you read my past post, The Pressures Of Buying A Christmas Gift For The Wife you’ll know what I’m talking about, not to mention why I was giddy with excitment to find this gift.
My wife had gotten hooked on watching Downton Abbey. She watched each episode of Season One on Netflixs. But that was it. No more seasons appeared. It was like reading a great book and suddenly finding two thirds of the pages had evaportated. So she patiently waited and waited. Nothing. That was when the lightbulb went off in my brain. Now it must be understood that when a lightbulb goes off in my brain, it usually leads to some form of trouble and regret, usually at the hands of my wife. But in this case it was a good light bulb. So I went on Ebay. I knew that Downton Abbey was in its fourth season so I began searching for Seasons one thru three. But much to my excitement I found a set of all seasons, one thru four, from a seller in the United Kingdom. Come on PayPal do your thing!
Eight days later it arrived. I hid my gift away in a secure location, my surprise ready for Christmas. There was only one minor flaw in my plan. I had to keep it a secret for three weeks. I mean…three weeks! First I must say in my defense, I valiantly tried. I really did. But when she made mention of a Christmas ad in the paper showing Season one and two on sale at a local store the dam of my secrecy developed a leak.
“You’re not going to buy them, are you?” I asked.
“No, but why are you asking?”
“You’re trying to pry imformation out of me, aren’t you,” I said with an accusing finger.
“Don’t lie to me,” I retorted. “You’re saying you’re going to buy them knowing full well what I got you for Christmas! You are such a Grinch!
“Wha…what? she stammered, looking at me as if I had a skin disease in the advanced stages.
“You’re bound and determined to ruin the only great Christmas present I ever bought you, so I might as well tell you–”
“Listen you nincumpoop, I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about! What has gotten into you?”
By then I was pacing the kitchen like a trapped animal.
“It’s no use.” I finally blurted. “You would have pried it out of me sooner or later, you sneaky…I bought you Downton Abbey Seasons one thru four. All I can say is I hope you’re happy.”
Unlike the numerous times where my revealed secret had gotton me in trouble, on this occasion she squealed with glee, wrapping her arms around me with a lip-lock I had never felt since our honeymoon at the Catch-A-Lunker Lodge.
But now what am I suppose to do for Christmas? Why can’t I keep a secret? Sigh!