I had a post for you today. In fact I had 6 (six!) all ready to go. It was a series. And, as it turns out, I have been gagged. Gagged for a good reason, but still gagged.
So now I feel I must make up for this semi-self-censorship by telling you number Seven in a series of Weird Things You Don't Know About Me. How do spies cope with secrets? I can't keep one thing secret without blurting out another secret to restore cosmic balance. I have exceeded my secret out-of-pocket maximum, so I must tell you...
...I wear pajamas whenever possible. I get home, oh, six-thirty. At six thirty-one, even before I pet the dog, I'm in my pajamas. People come to the door. "Are you sick?" they ask, greatly concerned. "No, I am a pig," I answer.
Big deal, you think. Let me state these are not elegant lounging pajamas. My favorite pajamas are cotton, worn lingerie-thin. There is a hole in the seam of each shoulder. There is an enormous gaping hole across the right knee, in fact, really the left leg is more Bermuda short than pajama leg.
Okay, that's not the secret. I'm stalling. The real secret is that as much as I love ratty well-worn pajamas, I love smelly pajamas more. I only wash my pajamas if they just reek. If my eyes water, I think, "Well, if I wash them at least they'll get more worn out. That's an upside." I suppose it might be that the more my pajamas smell, then at least I've accomplished one little thing as I was lolling about in my pajamas -- I contributed to my pajama odor.
There. Now my secret to confession ratio has been balanced, and I can keep this other topic secret.