My ability to keep secrets is severely compromised

[dsrtao]

by a wife who can read me like a mobile billboard truck broken down in front of our living room windows.

"What are you up to? There's flour on your fingers. Are you making pizza dough for dinner?"

Guilty as charged.

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At times like this, it is good to be a morally upright and irreproachable person.

Robin doesn't just "read me". She can predict me.

It's getting tiresome: but she knew that.