Maybe I’m too nice.
I don’t understand the point of blatant lies, especially when the lies are about pointless things like someone’s age, their job, or even the food at a corporate event. I think that honesty is the best policy,* but it appears that I’m in the minority.
While I was in law school, I had a summer internship in a different state. I ended up casually dating a guy that I now simply refer to as “The Liar.” He lied about his age, his job, getting trapped on a mountain, and either a) all of the women he slept with while we were hanging out or b) lying about all the women he slept with while we were hanging out. It got to a point where I stuck around just to see what other craziness would come out of his mouth.
Listen, I’ve been telling fibs/lies (white and otherwise) since I learned to talk. (“Listen mom and dad, I found this cat wandering around outside. (I bought it at a school fair.) Can we keep it?” “No, your muffin top doesn’t look that bad. (Yes, it does.)” “Yes DMV, I weigh 180 pounds. (Try closer to 210. Okay, that’s another lie. As of yesterday afternoon, I weighed 238.)” “Of course Mr. Sales Man, let me put you on hold while I page our CEO. (I’ll put you on hold, but I won’t do shit for you.)”)
What I’ve learned from my many, many years of lying experience is that my favorite kinds of lies are omissions. (“I want to borrow your pictures, so that Halley can scan them. (We’re then going to take them and turn them into a photo book and gift it to you for Christmas.)” “Listen T-Mobile, you’re going to return this $29.99 charger without the packaging because it didn’t properly work with my phone. (It kind of does a half assed job, but the charger that I bought for $2.69 does a much better job. Plus, I hate your face. Your eyeballs stink!) Also, I have the receipt!”)
When it comes to the corporate world or men, I have to ask – what’s the point of telling people one thing when we both know it’s a lie? There have been so many situations where I can’t see a point to include even a little lie. Maybe it covers someone’s ass for making bad decisions, but the storm has already been weathered and people have already forgotten about greasy hamburgers and one salad option. Or, maybe you don’t think you’ve lead an interesting life. Maybe that’s true, but now I’m interested to know why you feel the need to make up all of these stories so you are kind of interesting. Either way, I think I’m just too nice to deal with either of you.
*Granted, this policy has created a bit of an issue with my youngest sister, who has taken to regularly complaining about how hard I am to buy gifts for. She complains to me, my uncle, my uncle’s new boyfriend, our siblings, her friends, my ex-roommates… I’m sorry, but what am I supposed to do with an etched glass nameplate? Since she’s given it to me, I’ve moved from living in a house with three (or four depending on the weekend) roommates to living in a studio. It’s a very sweet thought, but I just don’t know what to do with it and so it stays bubble wrapped and packed away. So, she thinks that I’m ungrateful and disappointed.
Yes, I’ll admit that Halley has been my post holiday ride for more years than I can count. For all the years that I lived out of state, she was the one who drove me to the airport with all of the many gifts crammed into my suitcase. And, on the years when my dad bought me a tie and a coffee mug with a cat sleeping in a basket or my half sister bought me a family of bunny figurines from Dollar Tree, Halley was the one I talked into driving me to Goodwill so that I wouldn’t go over weight on my luggage and so that I made the donations in time so I could deduct them the next time I filed taxes. So, yes, Halley knows my dirty little secret, and she takes it personally. Very personally.
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