Keeping Secrets... or Not

This is how my life works: I cruise along being a teacher, a mom, a friend...

My life seems pretty normal most of the time. I go out sometimes after work with co-workers and carry on comfortably chatting about colleagues and kids and crafts and I keep pace with the casual conversation.

Then I say something stupid. Without realizing it, something slips out of my mouth like “When I was in New York on a photo shoot….”

It’s suddenly quiet. Eyes are on me.

“A what? Photo shoot?”

Then I realize most people don’t start sentences with “When I was in New York on a photo shoot,” and I wish I hadn’t said that because it really wasn’t anything and I’m no better - no more special - than anyone at the table. It could have happened to any of them.

“What were you doing on a photo shoot?”

“Print work,” I say, and then I try to change the topic. “So, how’re the twins? Bet they’re crawling by now, huh? Getting any sleep?”

It doesn’t work.

“Like modeling?”

“Sort of.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. It’s not that big a deal,” I say, hoping someone else is bored with this and will start talking about something else.

“Did you do that a lot?”

“No. Not a lot. It’s really no big deal.”

“Right,” someone says. “It’s not like you were on TV or something.

I bite my tongue.

“Yes she was,” my friend says. “She was on the Today Show.”

I want to crawl under the table.

“Why?” they ask, wanting to know how this seemingly insignificant Chicago suburbanite garnered her fifteen minutes of fame. Fifteen minutes she really didn’t deserve.

“I was fat. Then I wasn’t.”

“YOU were fat?”

“Yes. I lost a hundred pounds. I’m glad I did, but I’m not really proud of being in magazines or on television. I didn’t get that attention because of any of my intellectual accomplishments. I got it because I got really fat and then lost weight and stories like that sell.”

It’s quiet again. I know what they’re thinking. “Bitch. You get trips to New York and you’re on the cover of a magazine and you got to meet Matt Lauer and you’re complaining about it. Shut up.”

“Did you meet Matt Lauer?”

“Yes. And Ann Curry. And Hoda before she was destroyed by Kathie Lee,” I say. “They’re all incredibly nice.”

“How hot is Matt in real life?”

“Very hot. I touched him.”

They sigh dreamily. They don’t hate me anymore. They’re living vicariously through me. We order a pizza and debate the number of calories we’re about to consume and we’re all back on the same page.

And maybe if I don’t drink too much I won’t let something else slip. Like the Oscar thing.

That might be disastrous. I have a reputation to maintain. I’m not very good at keeping secrets. That’s why I’m a writer.

Visit me on Twitter (@CeceliaHalbert)