107 - Secrets


The candlelight dinner with Britt has gone well so far. She seems really into you, and you don’t find yourself constantly thinking about murdering her like you did with your ex-wife. It’s been a couple decades since your last date, but you think this may be what enjoying someone’s company feels like.

Britt interlocks her fingers and rests her chin on her hands. She lowers her gaze seductively and gives you a playful little smirk. “So,” she says “tell me something no one else knows about you.”

You need not even think about your answer – you are ready for this question.

“I have a pair of fuzzy slippers that look like they were sewn together from a combination of seal and arctic rabbit hide,” you tell her. “Sometimes I put them on, strip completely naked, and pretend I’m an Inuit guide for an arctic expedition, but I’ve been betrayed by the callous British imperialists who hired me. Selfish and ignorant, they thought to leave me for dead to claim their “feat” of walking to the north pole as a hard-won accomplishment produced solely by the efforts of white men. Stripped naked save for my home-made moccasins given to me by my faithful wife Appay as an anniversary gift, I trudge across my carpet which I pretend is the tundra of northern Canada, a singular goal on my mind – to make it alive to my village before the would-be murderers that double-crossed me do, lest they try to kill my family as they failed to kill me.”

“Oh, that’s neat!” Britt coos. She leans in close and whispers across the table  to you. “Don’t tell anybody, but I love silly romantic comedies. Guilty pleasure.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” you tell her. You order another scotch.