Not very many people know me.
As in, really, truly, know me, know me. Inside and out, my goods, bads and uglies. It’s not that I’m particularly secretive about myself, but I guess I’m not a gushing spout of information either. My parents both know me pretty well, although I think my mother is still under the impression that I like peas, corn and carrots – a myth that lasted throughout my entire childhood and led to a lot of irritation at the dinner table (as well as many instances of sautéed mushrooms when it was my father’s night to cook… thanks Daddy!!).
My friends don’t even tend to know much about my personal tastes, save for a a few elements. I think several of my sorority sisters might know my favorite colors and alcoholic beverages and at least one of them is pretty in tune with what I like to read. Only one boyfriend ever gave me a gift that was what I’d consider perfect for me, although Piet did come very very close once with buying me Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass. If it’d been an autographed edition I think I might’ve fainted and/or gone into seizures of joy, but that’s a lot to expect of anyone, so it’s not even on my wishlist at present.
Anyway, I digress, as usual.
My point was supposed to be that Piet, well, Piet has been blowing me away recently with how well he knows me. And I don’t just mean knowing what I like to eat or what scents I like at the soap store. I mean, recently he deduced something about my behavior that I really thought I was covering up well.
See, there are some things in general that I’ve been angry, frustrated and dissapointed by. But I don’t see any real solution for any of them in the immediate future so rather than continuously complaining and being bitchy (I tried that for a while and it led to a lot of fighting and general tension for half of June and much of July), I’ve resolved to put on my happy face and let things go as best I can.
And dammit if the other day Piet didn’t look at me for a while and then say something along the lines of, “I’m wondering if my girl is actually happy or if she’s smiling more, but covering up what’s underneath.”
Yes, he tends to refer to me in third person while talking directly to me. It can be endearing. Most of the time.
And I just looked at him and kept smiling.
Because he knows me so well and can apparently see through to the heart of things, regardless of how I behave, so there was really no point in denying that he was totally right.
I’m not exactly sure what he’ll do with this newly (or not so newly?) deduced information, but I do know that sometimes I wish he’d stick to knowing my favorite sandwich instead of the innermost workings of my heartstrings.