Not So Classified

I’m positively bursting with information. I’m full to the brim with it. I feel like spilling over. I turn towards a stranger. I open my mouth, then close it. This is classified information. Or rather, information only I care about. The girl next to me doesn’t care. The boy doesn’t give a damn. People couldn’t care less. Yet I want to shout it everywhere. I want it emblazoned on my chest. I want a giant forearm tattoo. I want a neon sign proclaiming it. I can’t hold it in any longer. “I got married yesterday!” The stewardess smiles and says, “How nice.” She asks if I want complimentary peanuts. I shake my head no, defeated. Marriage only matters to the married. But they won’t rain on my parade. I married a wonderful, wonderful, WONDERFUL man.


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