“Three May Keep a Secret if Two are Dead” ~ Benjamin Franklin in Richard’s Almanac (1735)
I learnt this the hard way. At 50, I shouldn’t have needed a lesson about it, to be honest. But apparently, fate decided that I did. And here I am. Corrected, castigated, and contrite. No, I am not blaming anyone. Because I am to blame. Not the other party. I am the idiot here. Without doubt. See above saying.
You see, in a fit of emotional weakness some time ago, I had spoken about my failed marriages and the associated reasons to someone I thought was a sensitive, kind, generous soul and a mature, evolved human.
As anyone who knows me knows, I avoid speaking of the causes of my failures, specifically of the human variety. Why? Not only because any perspective of mine will be coloured by the lenses I wear, and will be, by definition biased, one-sided, and most probably incomplete, but also because I am a gentleman. And gentlemen do not kiss and tell.
However, recently, someone I met for the first time ever (and a common friend with the abovementioned soul) told me rather offhandedly they knew things about my past I had mentioned only to a very few people. Greatly shocked, I asked them point blank where they received that piece of information, and they told me honestly. It was the person I trusted.
I am surprised. And disappointed. And a little hurt. I trusted you, my friend. I should not have.
P.S.: I am going off social media for a while. I need to rethink some of my life choices. And no, I am not revealing the names of the involved parties. I am a gentleman.
