About a month ago, a small community paper in our neck of the woods reported that a certain woman had endured two Unwanted Kisses from her boss eight years ago, and she just couldn't keep it to herself any longer. Since that revelation the kisser, publisher of two highly respected magazines (Maine Magazine and Maine Home + Design) has been forced to sell his business because 65 advertisers and numerous business partners have fled since learning of his years-old indiscretion. I mean, kissing a woman "after an evening of drinks" simply will not stand! (Yes I know -- OJ was excused after murdering two people, but this guy kissed someone almost a decade ago and now he must pay.)
Today that story of so-called sexual harassment was repeated in the Maine Sunday Telegram, a bigger paper with many more readers. This brought to mind all the secrets I've been keeping for people for years, not to mention all the unwanted kisses I have endured that failed to traumatize me. As you might expect, the secrets all concern bawdy, tawdry and illicit behavior on the part of former friends who once confided in me, or else I was a firsthand witness to their sins. None of the secrets have to do with how much someone gave to charity anonymously or how they selflessly cared for an aging parent. Of course not, since those would not be secrets. A lot of them have to do with things that, were they to occur today, would ruin the careers of men in power.
To be frank I'm getting tired of these secrets and don't want them tagging along to the Afterlife. I've got to write them down and keep the paper on which I've written them on me at all times so they will be released from my spirit when I'm transported to Heaven, where I surely must be going after keeping all those damn secrets for so long.
Of course I have a few secrets of my own which are known by one or two people out there who I hope have died already. I'll have to take those to the grave with me, which might actually keep me out of Heaven after all, which is why it sucks to be me -- and Kevin Thomas. (See opening paragraph.)
Today that story of so-called sexual harassment was repeated in the Maine Sunday Telegram, a bigger paper with many more readers. This brought to mind all the secrets I've been keeping for people for years, not to mention all the unwanted kisses I have endured that failed to traumatize me. As you might expect, the secrets all concern bawdy, tawdry and illicit behavior on the part of former friends who once confided in me, or else I was a firsthand witness to their sins. None of the secrets have to do with how much someone gave to charity anonymously or how they selflessly cared for an aging parent. Of course not, since those would not be secrets. A lot of them have to do with things that, were they to occur today, would ruin the careers of men in power.
To be frank I'm getting tired of these secrets and don't want them tagging along to the Afterlife. I've got to write them down and keep the paper on which I've written them on me at all times so they will be released from my spirit when I'm transported to Heaven, where I surely must be going after keeping all those damn secrets for so long.
Of course I have a few secrets of my own which are known by one or two people out there who I hope have died already. I'll have to take those to the grave with me, which might actually keep me out of Heaven after all, which is why it sucks to be me -- and Kevin Thomas. (See opening paragraph.)
