One deviant thing

What you need to know is that you will never know me by reading this blog. But you will know what I want you to know about me, which is all you need to know to make me happy.

In addition, I'm not afraid to let you see only those parts of myself I deem acceptable for public viewing. And I'm not afraid to reveal one deviant thing about myself per millenium.

This millenium's deviant thing is this:
When I was a little girl, like ten, my friend and I were dallying with the idea of becoming smokers. Problem: moms were counting the cigs. My solution: the ground in our quaint little downtown community was virtually littered with partially smoked butts. Suddenly, we had a plethora of tobacco choices. Pall Mall, Merit Menthol, Kool, Camel, Salem, Virginia Slims. We were in a tobacco paradise for fools. For days, we joyously snatched half-deteriorated butts and sucked them down to the filters. Round about the third day, I was snagging my daily stash when the sudden thought dawned on me: who the hell's mouth had been sucking on this thing? I whipped the offending butt to the ground in humiliation, realizing that what I had done, I had done on main street in the light of hundreds of curious on-lookers. That day I determined that no one would know what I had done. Except, of course, for the observers lucky enough to glimpse a feckless kid being a piggy wig with discarded ciggie butts.

But then there's always that once-a-millenium confession. Good for even the deviant soul.