Nothing but (some) of the truth

Last week, I really opened up to you, like Lance did with Oprah.  I told you about my ex-boyfriend. You know, the one (of many) that got away.  And of course, I told you all about my excessive steroid use…which surprised those of you who have seen me try to make it up four flights of stairs without sweating profusely.

However, I’m not going to say that I lied to you.

Much like my animal spirit guide 2 Chainz, ye ain’t never told no lie.  Honestly, that’s what makes this fun for me.  I tell you an embarrassing truth, and you go, “Ooooooooh my GAWD, did that really happen?”  And then I start sobbing into my hands, but peek at you surreptitiously to see if you’re buying it, and keep it going until you offer to buy me more drinks and/or snack wraps.

But I do occasionally switch out some of the specific details of my life to protect the innocent, and also, so my parents don’t try to send me to rehab.  Again.

I thought I was doing pretty well with censoring the most memorable particulars about people – like their social security numbers or the number of pounds they gained sophomore year of college – but last week, I must have been too lazy/hungover to bother with all that.

So, when I met up with a friend/hero/soulmate/therapist after the post had been published, I was thrilled to hear that she loved reading my blog.  I was less-than-thrilled to hear that she knew exactly who I was talking about in the most recent post, and casually remarked that she didn’t remember the term “boyfriend” being thrown around when I had dated this man.

I laughed, in a totally non-panicked way, and said, “Oh, yes!  I use the term ‘boyfriend’ very loosely, especially when I refer to men I have dated and/or Cory Booker.”

She smiled in that way people do when they can tell you are totally sane, and told me she had to run off to a party.

I gave her a hug, and ran off to my favorite safe haven: the subway.  But as I’m walking towards the uptown track, I see him.  His eye catches mine, and I know there’s no escape.  I’m going to have to say hello.  I walk up, give him a hug, and the subway platform audience applauds.

He tosses his saxophone to his band mate, grabs a handful of cash out of his hat on the floor, gives me a kiss on the cheek and says, “It was great seeing you again, Allison.”

 

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