Lemme tell you.
Shackin’ up with a mate, movin’ into his place, and suddenly you’re in lockdown when you’re only six months into this crazy little thing called love? Yep, Jan and I are there. And we are relying heavily on our friendship to tow this boat ashore, and hallelujah, we were best friends before walking into this isolation insanity. Otherwise, well. Otherwise I might have come to understand Carole Baskin.
One of the questions that has come up with us is the age old: should you tell your partner everything? What’s on the table? What needs to be disclosed? Should they be privy to everything? Do you need to reveal what’s between you and God?
Jan and I definitely don’t have all the answers, but I thought the question was interesting to field. And hey, while we’re doing not a whole lot more than spending time with one another, maybe it’s worth asking.
Where does the line get drawn? For example, should you disclose how many sexual partners you’ve had? Or is that really none of their business? Should you disclose your debt load? What if your ex partner calls you? Should you reveal that to your spouse? An argument at work? Your hopes for the future? What’s on the table, and what’s not? Where is the line in the sand?
If you know anything about Jan and I, it’s that we’re the first to recognize that we are a couple of old dogs, trying on a new relationship like some new trick we’re trying to learn. We’re well established in our own quirks, and nuances. Our own habits. We’ve developed our own sense of necessity. We’ve made up our minds with how much we choose to disclose to anyone, much less a new partner.
And for the most part, we’re on the same page.
The most part.
For the most part, we are on the same page. Not entirely. But in general. Besides, nobody tells Care what to do.
Insert me giving him an expletive.
Should we have the privilege of asking our partners not to disclose? In my world, I have drawn my own line in the sand. I’ve been explicit in that I don’t want to hear anything that will a: upset me, or b: upset me in that I don’t have any control. In which case, I’m strictly upset without any way of changing the situation. For this, I believe in the adage: ignorance is bliss.
Listen, I’m not about to suggest that during the time of a pandemic, when people are dying, scared or frightened, that two adults cooped up in a house together without much else to do besides each other should go to the inner depths of their skeletal circles. But. It’s food for thought, anyway.
Should we tell them everything?
Can I start with telling him it’s less than ideal when he crop dusts my bedroom while I’m blogging?
— c ☆