They Call Me Junebug

Need to know basis

So, if you’ve read my husband’s blog entry today, you may be wondering why in the world I just didn’t tell him.

Well, much like Rusty Shackleford, I tend to be pretty secretive. I don’t think of it as sneaky, just secretive. Ask my husband, I don’t usually appreciate people asking me lots of questions, even such things as “what’s for dinner?” or “how do we get there?” I can’t really offer up an explanation, except that I’m an anal retentive control freak who guards insignificant information with undue zest. I like being the only one who knows, gives me a small amount of control or power I guess. I also grew up as the eldest of 6 kids, and I am unused to being questioned, they were on a need-know basis, and were to follow instructions without question. Evidently husbands don’t like to operate that way. I can’t imagine why.

In addition to being secretive, I also have a much weaker self-confidence than most people would ever gather from my outer demeanor. Perhaps my husband and my parents have the only true inkling to how fragile my often inflated ego is. As a result, I don’t tend to tell people certain things, because I don’t want to appear stupid or inept, and I really don’t want to be made fun of. I do many stupid things that I will be the first to laugh at, but if something really means anything to me, I will be very sensitive about it.

My writing is one of those things that mean something to me. Until last night I hadn’t even told my husband that I was writing anything. Not because I intended to write anything I didn’t want him to see (though hopefully he understands exaggeration for comedic effect. You do, don’t you honey?), but because I didn’t want him to think anything I wrote was stupid. Now, he’ll be the first to tell you he would never think that, but it doesn’t matter what he really thinks, all that matters is my perception of what he would think. And as you may have gathered, I think my perceptions, like myself, can be pretty warped at times.

So I hadn’t told him I was writing anything, and I hadn’t really planned on it. Most of what I write he knows or hears in much less concise verbal format anyway, so I didn’t really think he was missing anything. Then when I received a very surprising request to be interviewed by Troll Smasher, I was a little wary at first. Given all of the horror stories you hear about online stalkers, I made certain to do my homework. I checked out his site, I followed a few links, I established that while a few stalkers seemed to be after him, he himself seemed fairly normal for a person named Troll Smasher.

Having established he was in fact a reputable Troll Smasher, not some fly-by-night operation, I decided to do the interview. However, I couldn’t, and still can’t, comprehend why anyone would want to interview me. I’ve met myself, and I’m pretty non-descript and boring most of the time, nothing worth interviewing, no matter how diverse the audience. Having never done an interview outside of applying for a job, I was very nervous about my capabilities. So, all of those things combined with not wanting to give my husband any more ammunition in our ongoing war of who’s a bigger nerd, I didn’t tell him.

It wasn’t because I thought I needed to hide it or felt I was doing anything as wrong as playing a couple games of D&D (which he did not disclose his participation in till just last night), but mostly because I didn’t know how it was going to go and that there was a distinct possibility I’d end up sounding like a rambling idiot and God knows he gets enough of that.

I heard him enter the bathroom during my interview, but I didn’t really give it a second thought because I wasn’t doing anything wrong. It was only after I concluded the interview that I went looking for him (we had a date to watch a Thin Man movie) and realized he was STILL in the bathroom. My immediate concern was for his health, surely that was not a good sign. However, the minute I heard his voice, I knew he was all kinds of bent out of shape. When it was established why, I felt really bad that I had put him through the roller-coaster of emotional distress he had endured, all because I was trying to preserve the few remaining shreds of my dignity.

He was a very good sport about it all, and was much relieved to discover that I was in fact still a faithful and loving wife. So, it makes for a good story, but not one I’d like to repeat. From now on, all interviews and or strange men met over the internet must apply to Mr. Junebug himself for a permit to interview me. Not really, but he’ll like the idea of it…

Have a happy Friday and a wonderful weekend all. I’m off to a wedding where I’ll like approximately 3 people there, of which my husband and I are two. That margin is only slightly lower than the number of people I like from the general population. I’m a people person who doesn’t like 95% of people I meet. And it’s a wonder my husband thinks I’m complicated.

Catch you on Monday!

posted by The Call Me Junebug @ 12:01 PM