I am an official member of the Secret Share Society. This society is made up of women (and some men) that discuss among themselves all the things we were told to keep secret when we were little. From what I can tell (as is my case) you are inducted in when you get into your 30s. At this age you will not feel the need to share anything but you become bombarded by the members with seniority as they tell you everything you DO NOT WANT need to know.

Nothing appears to be off limits for conversation. Nothing.

The favorite topics seem to be related to that part of the body that was strictly forbidden to make jokes about or point out the humorous attributes it has when we were younger. Although from time to time someone will point out some wound that is seeping or some gelatinous lump under their skin (see, look how it jiggles when I touch it)

My initiation into this group was done by an elderly relative. I think this is common practice to start it in your family where you will feel the most uncomfortable comfortable with these type of discussions. I remember it very vividly (Enter flashback sequence)

We were sitting down to a nice dinner (what we had escapes my mind as it was pushed out by the conversation) when “she” began talking about a new fiber drink she was trying. (Psst…you know to help with regularity) I didn’t flinch and continued to push food in my mouth while my cheeks began to feel flushed. I begged and pleaded in my mind for her to change subjects as she took another breath in an obvious attempt to continue the topic. Time blurred by as my attempts of discussing our weather patterns were shot down again and again by the topic of constipation. I didn’t think I could ever be more mortified by a discussion.

Until the sweet, very proper elderly lady in the checkout line turned around to discuss hemmroids with me.

I think I more resemble a deer in headlights ready to take flight than a doctor, so why do people feel the need to discuss these things with me? It happens more and more frequently. In addition to pinching my children’s cheek, I have come to expect some type of weird bodily affliction to be told to me. It’s all part of belonging to “The Society” I am sure the day will come (when I am much older) that I will be tempted to corner some frightened looking young woman and discuss stool frequency, but for now I would prefer to live in oblivion that it doesn’t happen.

Next subject…

That little area by the checkout line. I usually don’t look at because I am one of those people who doesn’t buy it if it isn’t on the list. During today’s discussion with some older man about prostrate health, I let my eyes wander to that section in order to distract myself. I know that all these things are placed in that section for the impulse and last minute buyer, but who on earth really needs a $4 aerosal of .5 ounces of hand sanitizer and while they are purchasing that they see the dog squeek toys and just have to buy it for Fluffy. I suppose it is the same people who buy the two pack of Tylenol instead of walking 40 yards to the pharmacy section and buying the 300 count bottle.

To lure me into purchasing from this section I need it stocked with the following things I can never seem to remember.

1. Sour cream (why do I never have more than a spoonful in the fridge)
2. Hot dog buns (because buying a pack of hot dogs does not remind me I need buns for some reason)
3. Children pack of socks.
4. Qtips and cotton balls.

I do not ever have the urge for the following…

1. An egg of Silly Putty
2. Hand warmer packs
3. Packet of Flower Fresh for keeping those flowers looking good on your table.

Categories: General Junk