“Well we all have a face that we hide away forever.  And we take them out and show ourselves when everyone has gone.”  ~ Billy Joel The Stranger

“What I am is what I am.  Are you what you are or what?” ~ Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians What I Am

We all have secrets.  At least that’s what I secretly tell myself.  None of us are our raw, unedited selves in public.  For the most part, thank God for that.  There’s a reason editors are a necessary part of the writing process.  You can tell when a book has not been edited well, and we all know people who could use a good editor. 

I don’t know, for example, and don’t want to know, what kind of underwear you wear.  Maybe you are a practical kind of person who goes for soft, breathable cotton in large, expandable shapes.  Perhaps you like the kind of undergarment that squeezes your curves into submission, taming the lumps into smooth arcs and making round things into flat planes.  You might be the kind of gal who wears flossy underwear that shows no pantylines.  Is it laundry day and you are going commando?

But these are the people I’m talking to today: the people who don’t have a hot date after work but who are wearing matching red satin bra and panty sets.  Not because anyone will see it but because they know that underneath the conservative blue pinstriped suit they have on there is a matching red satin bra and panty set.  It makes them feel strong and sexy and like they have a secret lots of people would want to know but don’t.  And can’t.  Which is in and of itself a kind of power. 

Nota Bene[1]:  I do not own a matching red satin bra and panty set.  I do not have that kind of confidence, though I admire people who do.  You can quit conjuring up that mental image, as I just realized my writing this may have caused you to do.

No, my version of a red satin bra and panty set is infinitely less subtle.  I’m more of the Wonder Woman Underoos™ kind of girl.  If they made those in my size, honestly, I would buy them and wear them as often as they were clean.  Instead, my good friend Rachel found me this magic jacket.  Look at me looking all conservative and boring and professional:

Now look at me looking like an Amazon from Themyscira:

Unless I roll up my sleeves or flash the inner lining of my jacket, no one will know.  So what’s the point?  The point is that I know for a fact that wearing a jacket like this is silly and pointless, and it reminds me not to take myself too seriously.  It also reminds me that, just like Diana Prince, I have powers (literally) up my sleeve that no one knows about.  Just because other people can’t see them or don’t know they are there doesn’t mean they exist.  My secrets are no less real for being secret. 

Of course, it’s not a secret anymore, but that doesn’t make it any less mine.  Nor does it mean that there aren’t any more lurking underneath.

You’ll never know.

[1] Latin for “Mark Well”, often abbreviated as N.B., but probably only by lawyers, it is used as a sort of linguistic highlighter. 

If you enjoyed this and want to read more like it, visit Lori at her website,, on Twitter, or on Facebook.   Her newest book, a Foreword INDIES Gold Medal award winner, “If You Did What I Asked In The First Place” is currently available by clicking here.

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