Caller: Yes, may I speak with Ross?
Jill: He's at work. It's 2 p.m. On a workday.
Caller: Oh, I see. Is this Mrs. Ross*?
Jill: (Trying not to sound annoyed even though she has every right to be) Um, yeah. Sure.
Caller: Oh great. I'm calling about his Playboy subscription!
Now, from here, the call could go one of two ways. The way it did go, which involved me telling the caller that in fact Mr. Ross had already renewed his subscription but thanks for calling; or the way it might have gone, were I less cool and/or understanding:
Jill: His what?!
Caller: Oh ... his, um, his Playboy subscription.
Jill: Are you telling me ... that the man I'm about to marry ... subscribes to pornography?!
Caller: (Increasingly flustered) Oh no, ma'am. It's not porn. It's—
Jill: I'll tell you what. I'll pay for his renewal if you change the address on the subscription. It should go to his mother's house—that's where he'll be living now.
The moral of the story, folks? Don't keep secrets from your intended (or your intention-followed-through), even about something as possibly innocuous as softcore nudie mags with legitimate journalistic reporting for those who'd care to watch. Because it might not be pretty when s/he finds out. Not pretty at all.
*It should go without saying that the woman on the phone did not call me Mrs. Ross but actually used Ross's last name. That said, I'm not using it here, so just go with me.
Image: Andy Wilson on Flickr