How do you know that?

I've decided people know too much about me. And not the good stuff. The stuff that comes back to mildly embarrass me. (The really embarrassing stuff only my drinking buddies know. And they are too kind to bring it up when we are sober.)

Yesterday afternoon, I received two phone calls in a five minute period that convinced me that I spread the ugly details of my life around a little too freely. (As someone who writes a blog about my life, I suppose I should have realized this sooner.)

The first call came from a friend of ours. He works in the biz, so we've had several phone conversations and met a few times. I wouldn't count him among my BFFs, though, so what he said caught me a little flat footed. After our hellos, he asked me, "Isn't it your nap time?"

Well, yes, it was my nap time, but I was astounded that he'd remembered that I take a nap every day. I told him this over lunch weeks ago and more as a joke than anything. But here it was, an embarrassing detail of my day, right in front of me.

Five minutes later, one of our vendors called. Again, we've talked on the phone many times and met once, but after our hellos, he asked, "Did you get your daily dose of ice cream yet?"

Again, gob-smacked. How do these people remember this stuff about me? I told him, in a meeting more than six weeks ago, that I was eating ice cream pretty much every day. And then I promptly forgot that I ever told him that.

I find these interactions a bit unsettling, but actually kind of charming. Most guys wouldn't even remember that I'm pregnant, let alone that I nap frequently and eat ice cream like it's my job. Tony has days when he doesn't even remember that stuff, and I'm doing it in front of him. He seems surprised every day when I head upstairs for my nap. (He's never surprised when I eat ice cream - that's not a pregnancy thing, just a Lacy thing.)

I understand that these guys are salesmen so it is their job to remember details and forge personal relationships, but really, Tony is the one they have to do that with, not me. So I am flattered when they remember this stuff. I just wish I had the wherewithal to tell them more self-promotional stuff, like that I jog five miles every day or I teach underprivileged children to read in my spare time. No, instead I tell them that I'm lazy and addicted to high-fat foods.

So as a result of these conversations, I've made a new resolution. I will only share the best, most flattering information about myself with everyone around me. No more blogs about my weight or my frizzy hair (which, by the way, Bambi did a marvelous job on yesterday, and I only got a mini-bubble). From now on, you will have to endure lengthy self-promotions about my charitable work and involvement in self-sustaining local agricultural concerns.

Now I just need to find a charity and a local farmer.