As you recall, every time Pinocchio told a lie his nose grew. What I long to say to a man fibbing his little ass off is…don’t you wish everything got bigger when you lied?
I used to date a guy who lied about everything. If he said it was raining, I’d stick my head out the window to check.
He was a cop…it was during my blue collar period where I was gaga over any guy with a semblance of a tool belt, Charlie’s nightstick nestling in his holster having hot appeal.
There was also the telephone repairman who got my attention by saying, “Hey, pretty girl…wanna call Japan?”
A twenty year-old’s hormones are not very selective, or apologetic for that matter. Who cares if we’re doing it in a police car. It’s cheaper and handier than a hotel.
Both these men told me whoppers…Officer Pinocchio lived with a woman and had a son. When I confronted him he said, “Oh I meant to tell ya,” as if he forgot to mention he had cats.
Jamie, whose biceps were the size of baseballs from all that drainpipe climbing back in the day when wires were stapled, was gay, said I looked like such a little boy he just couldn’t help himself. Thank goodness it was in the 70s before I could catch anything other than a cold he being a nature boy from Colorado. Have you ever done it in the grass? Like screwing on the beach, it looks better on paper since there are no mosquito bites.
My mother lied too, not necessarily to me (though she did say pizza wasn’t fattening), but to my dad and the wives of men accusing her of fooling around with their husbands. She could have played one helluva game of poker with her Mona Lisa smile denying any involvement whatsoever even offering them coffee and her recipe for sponge cake.
I hate to lie going to great lengths not to by evading the issue. Camille, bless her little duplicitous heart, taught me how to cheerfully change a subject so the question flees into flattery towards the other person who forgets what they’ve asked. “You really like my hair this way? I look like Uma Thurman…really?”
It’s a honed skill, and one that keeps those fibs from infecting the atmosphere. The worst kind of lie is when it involves a third party, like that call at midnight from a suspicious boyfriend. “Is Camille there? She said she was spending the night.” This is a harder nut to crack but not totally impossible.
“Hello, hello? I don’t know who this is but I can’t hear you…sorry…click” Trouble with that one is it can only be used once, possibly twice after he says,”Isn’t it time to call the phone company to report this?” It’s a fib wrapped in cellophane since you don’t actually lie about the person in question…just your phone.
“Hello, hello? I don’t know who this is but I can’t hear you…