Come on now, admit it, you’ve lied. Alright, call it what you will, but you’ve done it. Fibbed, spun a tale, fabricated, exaggerated, beat around the bush, blew smoke up you know what, mislead, bent the truth, deceived, falsified, perjured, or indulged in a little white lie, and otherwise told big windy’s.
Of course you’ve been guilty of lying, “liar, liar pants on fire.” Its okay, well its really not okay—especially if you got caught. But we’ve all done it at one time or another, honest, I know I did. The bubbles still float out of my mouth occasionally from all those early mouth-washings I suffered at the hands of my mother for when I lied.
To this day, I still can’t help but feel that my mother (well me is more like it, albeit more reluctantly) must have worked as a tester for some of the biggest names in the bar-soap business. Dove, Dial, Ivory, Lifebuoy, I’ve tried them all, and let me tell you; blay bleft bly blouth blubbly clean, blubbles an all.
My mother swore (try a bar of Lava mom) that I received payment in full for all my lying. But I’m holding out for residual checks just in case, you know—for all the lies I told in the name of product testing.
But I’m willing to bet you and I are absolutely thrilled that we never suffered any affliction the likes of Pinocchio. That poor little wooden head, you know he NOSE all about lying.
To have a nose betray you like that—what a curse.
When I was much younger (last year) I thought it had to have been some kind of birth defect, and not the best efforts of the Blue Fairy trying to help Pinocchio see how obvious lies were.
I often worried about how the same disorder might befall me in some way. Years ago I saw how a former friend of mine (ever notice how its never someone we’re still friends with) saw his alimony payments grow disproportionately to his income. His lie was to his wife. I bet he wishes she tried Irish Spring on him instead.
Of course I’ve saw the reverse of that, when another friend of mine (again former—he moved up) lied about his on the job experience, and then saw his paycheck increase astronomically in his new found position. I bet he embraced that with Zest.
So much for, “Liars never prosper and cheaters never win.” Sure sounded like a win, win deal to me.
But my real fear was based on the more physical aspects of lying, and the possible growth of some other bodily appendage upon the telling of a lie.
Like, what if my hand grew to the size of one like Mickey Mouse if I told a lie. Yes it might be out of proportion with the rest of my body, but on the other hand I figured if anyone ever called me a liar—what a punch I would land.
But men know this; we’ll never be able to tell a beautiful woman that we simply love her for her mind only, because women instinctly know where to look to see if we’re telling the truth.