A long and whiny post about Cowboy has been stewing in my brain all night, but now I'm not sure I want to write it. See, I finally convinced him to read my blog a couple days ago. And when he'd finished it, he announced that it didn't really contain anything he hadn't already heard me say. This, predictably (if you know me), angered me. Because this obviously (to me) means that either I haven't thought of anything new for a long time, or else he thinks he knows all there is to know about me. And it's far too soon for that! We've only been married for two and a half years! This is not how it's supposed to be. It's supposed to be like at the end of Giant where Rock Hudson tells Elizabeth Taylor "If I live to be ninety, I'm never gonna figure you out." I always thought that was the greatest thing for him to tell her, although I'm still not entirely sure why (Note: I don't know why I was worried, because if I don't know everything there is to know about myself yet, then there's no way Cowboy could).
However, I'm not going to write that long and whiny post. Because I confronted Cowboy with this new peeve, and he said that he was very reassured when he read my blog and found out that the Hamlette he knows is the same Hamlette that's online, that I don't have some dark and disturbing part to myself that gets unleashed cyberically. AND he said that he hasn't figured me out yet (whew!), but rather, he knows me the same way he knows the Social Security Administration (this is his exact example): he knows what I've said and done in the past and has a vague idea what my purpose is, but if asked what I would do or say in a given hypothetical situation, he would have no clue.
Huzzah! This is quite reassuring. My lifelong quest to be mysterious and enchanting has not fizzled after all.