I can keep a secret. I just can, especially good secrets about fun and surprises for people I love. Little people I love in particular. I have been holding onto a great secret for well over two months now. One of those secrets that would cause high level, ear drum piercing screaming that would last for hours. It’s a really good secret.
I can also tell when I can get other’s opinions about my secret discretely when little people are preoccupied or out of earshot. I am good a doing this. So good that those I am talking to don’t realize that it still IS a secret from the little people I love.
Which is a great combination of skills until one person, not meaning any harm but answering a question posed by a little person I love about someone else’s wedding does this:
Apparently the head of one little person I love whipped around so fast at that moment that she may need to be checked for whiplash.
The poor spiller of beans tried to recover but hard to ever get back to the full surprise after the beans are out. She felt bad, and no hard feelings towards her – again, my skills are honed enough that she didn’t realize it was still a secret.
Where does the wine referenced in the title come in? Well, let’s just say I didn’t wait to get a wine glass before consuming what was left in the bottle that was on the table when I heard the secret…my big special secret…was out.
The little people I love have not officially asked me to verify the truth of the beans that were spilled before them…not yet…but they are talking amongst themselves about it.
Maybe they’re good at keeping secrets, too.