What was that about intimate conversations?

Last night, I asked K if she minded that I was writing this blog.

"No," she said. "But I do wonder what will become of it."

I shrugged. "Nothing will come of it. It's just an exercise."

"No, I know that," she said. "I mean--I hope no one will try to take advantage of you."

"Oh, you mean like someone stalking me?" I laughed. "I don't have enough people reading for that. Besides, it's not like I share our most intimate conversations or anything."

I sat down next to her and continued, "No, what I meant was... do you mind that I'm writing these feelings down, rather than sharing them with you?"

She didn't answer immediately. I hastily added, "It's just a different muscle. I mean, I think I'm better at writing than talking as it is. And... I doubt I'd write at all if I didn't think someone, somewhere, might read it."

"That's fine." She smiled.

"You can read it. I mean, if you want to know how I feel."

Score another one for male openness.