The Secret is an Asshole

I am a believer of The Secret philosophy. In fact, I recently gave my father a copy of the book with instructions to "Stop secreting negative occurrences in my life!" (He dared to suggest that I may not always be able to get exactly what I want. First of all: Duh, my life already made that tragically clear. Second of all: SHHHHH THE UNIVERSE MIGHT HEAR YOU!!!!)

But no, really, in all seriousness, many things that I have secreted have come true. This is where my assertion that The Secret is an asshole comes in to play. I would like to suggest that The Secret has the selective listening skills of a 13 year old girl. Case in point: When I was a small child, I was an avid reader of all things Sweet Valley. Jessica Wakefield had a Miata, I wanted a Miata. Jessica Wakefield dated ruggedly hot, wealthy dudes, I wanted to date ruggedly hot, wealthy dudes. Jessica Wakefield was a size 6, I wanted to be a size 6.

Interesting.

1. My current vehicle is either the NY subway or my brother's Ford Ranger Edge. Not that I could even fit my 6 ft long legs into a Miata. And ok, I now sort of feel like the Miata is the Gary Coleman of cars, but still, when I was 16, a Miata probably would have been more fabulous than my '95 Ford Thunderbird. Thanks for nothing, Secret.

2. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA

Sorry. Let's just say that everytime I secreted a ruggedly hot, wealthy dude, the Universe apparently decided it was opposite day. Cool, Secret. Really awesome of you.

3. Yesterday, I went to put on my favorite black satin Elie Tahari skirt, size 4. Oh, awesome. It didn't fit. I'd say it was about one size too small. Really, Secret? THAT'S where you're going to come through?? Obviously when I secreted a size 6 in 1995, I was unaware that it was to be the 2009 equivalent of plus size.

In short, I advise you all to treat The Secret as you would a junior high frenemy. Keep it around and use it for all it's worth, but don't leave it alone with your boyfriend.