Lies

Trista's post got me to thinking about lies I've told. I'm not going to talk about them just yet, because I'm not ready to do my S-Project post. But it just occurred to me that in my response to her post, I told a whopper.

I said I couldn't lie convincingly. Well, not in those exact words, but that was the gist of it.

But that's a lie.

It wasn't intended to be a lie. I thought it was the truth. See, my husband can catch me out in a lie 99 times out of 100. Sometimes he even catches me out in a lie when I'm telling the truth, but I suppose that's a different matter altogether. My sister can usually catch me in a lie, but I don't often lie to her. My mom, well, I haven't lied to her since I was a teenager, but let's face it--anyone in the family could lie to my mother and get away with it most of the time. She wouldn't believe that, but it was the truth.

I can, however, lie to people who don't know me well. I suppose most people can, because it's the subtle things that give away a lie, things that people who know you know to look for. But I can also lie to kids, even kids who know me very well. I lie to Clover's kids frequently. Remember my candy tree? I've also, at various times, told them that I make cookies with baked crickets (adds crispness, y'know), was glued to the chair and couldn't possibly get out (and A's repeated futile efforts to pull me out added verisimilitude to my story), and I forget what all else. They love me anyway, though, because I keep my word when I promise no more zerberts ever, and I bring lots of candy over, and I give loud noisy toys (to the ones who are still interested in toys), and C and I share fart jokes.

One of the women I work with collects angels. The other day I was 20 minutes early for a dentist appointment, so I stopped in at a Dollar General Store that was going out of business. I found a really cute little angel doll for 30 cents. I bought it, and the next morning I snuck it onto my co-worker's desk. Anonymously. As in, I didn't want her to know it was from me. So when she came in later on that morning, I heard her asking around about who left the angel on her desk. Eventually she made her way into my office, and I managed to keep a straight face as I asked what she was talking about. She showed me the little angel, I agreed that it was cute, and said that perhaps the person who left it for her didn't want her to know who it was. She agreed with me, but continued trying to find out. I was amazed, that time, that I managed to lie convincingly, because that's usually the kind of situation that gets me caught.

The most frequent lie I told my husband related to either books or clothing. When I would spend too much money on either item, I would, instead of taking the bags of books or clothes (or shoes or handbags) into the house, I would leave them in the trunk of my car for a while. Then when I decided it was time to clean out the car, I'd take everything into the house and put it away. He'd see me sporting a new blouse or pair of shoes, or see a new book (like how he could notice a new book amongst our piles I have no idea, but he still manages to every now and then), and ask when I got that. "This old thing? I've had it for ages," was my not-so-innocent response. One day in a fit of honesty, I confessed my tactics. Perhaps that's why he thinks he's catching me in lies now when I'm actually telling him the truth. I quit doing this over a year and a half ago, but he is still--naturally--suspicious.

I'm interested in lies, why people tell them. Sometimes I just can't help myself! I have to tell a lie or twenty. That's when it's time to start writing like crazy. I get to lie like crazy, and I don't get anybody mad at me.

I like to tell lies.

Should I be ashamed of myself?