10.17.00
I love gossip. I love to hear the who what when why where and how's of everyone else's lives. I could probably tell you almost anything of interest that there is to know about the residents of all of the tiny towns around here, courtesy of my clients and the Carol's clients.
Knowing that So-and-so and her husband swing, or that That One's daughter is a recovering diet pill junkie sends a shiver through my soul. I don't want to know these things for any ill purpose. I'm just a voyeur.
Maybe I've read too much about other's lives in the page of books or magazines, or maybe I've seen too much on the television and the movie screens to not be curious. I hunger for intimate details of people's lives the way others crave sweets.
The most fun is the secret knowledge that I have gained about the people that I know. I like knowing who's pregnant and then acting all surprised when they tell me themselves. I live for that shit. And I'd almost never tell a soul about the things that I have learned, except to discuss the details with other people who already know, or without at least changing the names and some details and sharing it with y'all here.
The knowledge is the thrill. Except when the gossip is about people you know know. You never ever never want to know about exactly how many irons someone has in the fire, or exactly how many fires the someone has burning unless you want to be burned yourself. Or maybe you do, if only to avoid possible painful searing and irritation.
