I suck at keeping secrets. And by "keeping secrets," I mean not saying every thought that goes traipsing through my head. So last night, I desperately wanted to share my gas station adventure with my fiance, who shall hereafter be called "McMoose." Not because he's Irish, nor because he's particularly fond of moose, but because he wishes to remain cool and mysterious in all things blog-related. So he is now a generic Irish moose...how much cooler can you get?
Me: I wanna tell you about what happened at the gas station today.
McMoose: So tell me.
Me: But if I tell you, you won't want to read about it on the blog tomorrow.
McMoose: So don't tell me.
Me: Fine. But when we stop communicating and the only way you have of knowing what's going on in my life is by reading my blog, just remember that it can all be traced back to this conversation.
McMoose: So tell me.
Dude, that is one unflappable Irish moose.
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