Everyone who knows me knows that I can’t keep a secret.
But apparently there’s something about me that inspires trust, however misguided that trust might be.
Take Apollonia, for example. I have ratted her out time and again, often in this very blog. She squeals and rages every time, and yet she continues to tell me intimate personal stories that curl my hair. (She threatens me with violence from time to time, but I am fairly certain that I am quicker and more limber than she is, so I could probably outrun her if I had to.)
Take today, for example. I don’t know how we got onto the subject, but she began telling a story to me and Cathleen about her childhood, and a song her sister used to sing to her while playing the piano. “It made me cry,” she said. “It made me cry every time. Later my sister told me she enjoyed singing it to me, because she liked watching me cry.”
“What was the song?” I said innocently / craftily.
And, reader, she told me.
I will not tell you the name of the song. If you are over fifty years old, you would recognize it immediately. I didn’t know its name (and neither did Cathleen, who’s older than me!), but we both began singing along with it as soon as we brought it up on YouTube.
“Aargh!” Apollonia shrieked. “It’s giving me goose bumps!”
Within minutes, she named another song that had the same effect on her. I will only tell you that it’s a country song and a classic.
Now I know two of her trigger songs. I can make Apollonia cry anytime I like, just by humming the first eight bars of either one.
Such power!
But seriously: why do people tell me these things? They know I’ll misuse the information.
(But lovingly. Always lovingly.)
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