I don’t think she knows

I have a confession to make. It’s something that I’ve only told three people before – Bess, Matt and Jenn, to be exact – but I think I’m finally ready to come clean with you, too. Here it goes.

I talk to myself when I’m getting ready. Well, more precisely, I talk to myself as if I were talking to someone else when I’m getting ready.

Surely I’m not the only one who does this.

This reminds me of one time, in college, when I was in a conversation with an acquaintance and said something like, “You know how sometimes, when you’re alone, you pretend like you’re on a reality tv show?” Her blank stare made me realize for the first time that maybe this wasn’t a common thing to do.

Granted, that was in the early 2000s, when reality tv was still relatively new, and I was wrestling my way through a particularly strong obsession with Laguna Beach. Maybe she didn’t have cable.

On any given morning, just after my shower, I’ll pour a cup of coffee and do my makeup while sitting at the coffee table in the living room. I like to take my time, and I’d rather sit and play with my makeup than stand and try to lean awkwardly over some bathroom counter.

When that’s done, I’ll head to the bathroom to dry and style my hair. Usually, by this time, Bryan’s awake and in the shower. And since I’ve been up for awhile and have at least 1.5 cups of coffee pumping through my veins, and since he’s trapped in the shower unable to make a quick exit, I like to use this time to ask him serious questions that he can’t dodge away from.

I get dressed once my hair is done, and this is really the key time. After I’ve coordinated my outfit and accessories, I sneak in front of a mirror where Bryan can’t see me. Sometimes, I’ll close the door. Then, I stand squarely facing the mirror, pucker my lips so my cheekbones look really good, and look myself up and down, turning left and right. And then, it’s the final moment – the last step before I walk out the door.

Using my left hand, I flick my hair over my left shoulder. Then, quickly, I do the same on my other side, flicking my hair over my right shoulder with my right hand. This is where the conversation comes in.

I imagine I’m in the middle of a very juicy gossip session with a girlfriend. Like, I’ve just learned something so scandalous, and I’ve pulled my friend away from a crowd, into a corner, where I’m telling her all of the tawdry details as she listens with wide eyes. And then I say this.

“I don’t think she knows.” [Hair flip on left side] “Do you think she knows?” [Hair flip on right side]

That’s it. That’s the conversation. “I don’t think she knows. Do you think she knows?”

EVERY. DAY. I do this every day. Why do I do this every day? I don’t even gossip like that with my real friends in my real life. I have no idea where this came from. Honestly, I think I was doing this subconsciously for months before I even realized that I was doing it.

Truth be told, sometimes this happens in public, too, like when I’m checking myself out in the mirror of a public restroom or the window of a business or a tinted car window as one does. I don’t even do it on purpose. It’s like a reflex. I’ll regain consciousness just as I’m mouthing the words “she knows” and staring deep into a reflective surface.

So there you go. There’s my deep, dark secret. That seems normal… right?

“I don’t think she knows. Do you think she knows?”

 

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