My Little Lies

Honesty is the best policy, except when it's not. All but the most socially inept know better than to reply honestly when asked "how are you doing?" in the hallway at work. Every man who values the time he spends with women knows that the correct answer to "does this make me look fat?" is "no" whether or not that happens to be the honest answer.

In addition standard little lies like these, I rely on my own custom-crafted lies to ease my passage through life. Here are a few:

• "I'm colorblind." I use this one to explain and excuse my inability to dress myself in colors that don't clash. Just the other day, when I wore a maroon shirt with brown trousers and green socks to work, I trotted out this little lie twice to deflect more penetrating personal criticism from others. This is such a good lie that even I believe it most days.
• "I read it somewhere." Many people use this lie when others suspect they're just making stuff up. I don't use this lie for that purpose. I use it instead when others begin to suspect I'm smart. Although I learned early in life that public demonstrations of intelligence are social suicide, sometimes my enthusiasm for a topic gets the best of me, causing me to spill a few nuggets of information before I realize what I'm doing. Once I perceive their suspicious glares, I can usually defuse the situation with a vague "I read it somewhere" followed by a vacuous smile and a vacant stare. If I do it right, they'll think I was just making stuff up.
• "We'll travel when the kids get older." Homebody, provincial, dull, shut-in, recluse. These are the words society uses to describe a person whose ideal vacation is two weeks alone in his study. So how do I explain my hatred for travel, my lack of wanderlust, my need to hole up in comfort, my distaste for deprivation? I blame it on my kids. If it wasn't such a hassle to travel with them, I'd be a globe-hopping resort-dropping jet-setter, a well-adjusted citizen of the world, happiest when confronted with new and unexpected adventures, absorbing diverse cultures at the source while accumulating a treasure trove of travel yarns to draw upon in my dotage. Or at least that's what I'd like others to think. Unfortunately, this little lie has a limited shelf life, expiring when my kids grow up. If I can't think of anything better by then, I'll have to go with "I'm on one of those terrorist watch lists" or "I'm under house arrest."
• "I forgot the camera." They won't let you leave the hospital with your newborn until you demonstrate ownership of, and proficiency with, an infant's car seat and a video camera. As a parent, you can either participate in your child's life or film it. I choose the former. Most choose the latter, judging by the number of cameramen lining the walls at every assembly, play, recital and birthday party we attend, preserving the proceedings for posterity. Imagine the pressure to capture the first steps, the first words, the first eating of solid food, the first crapping of solid food. Do we expect our kids to spend their lives reliving their carefully-recorded infancies? Do we expect we'll spend our empty nest years attempting to recapture the glories of our parenting years through film? Is any of this healthy? If not, why are we doing this? I don't get it, but admitting that in front of other parents is tantamount to saying "I don't care for my children," so I rely on the "I forgot the camera" lie, happy with whatever my selective and sepia-toned memory chooses to preserve.

Comments

[Diana]

Hey! A fellow non-filmer!! I agree wholeheartedly.

And at the last school performance, I had a hard time seeing over the raised video camera of the mother two rows ahead of me. She wasn't even watching the performance, but holding the camera above her head and watching it on the monitor. Disturbing.

[Monty]

I must say that I think you and Diana are spot on with this camera nonsense. Not only do cameras and film cost money that could be put to better use at a pub or links, but who wants to tote them about? Besides, who wants to have pictures of themselves so that others can look at them and, inevitably, make one of two observations: Either 1) "You look awful. Were you sick or just drunk?" Or, 2) "Look how good you look there. What the hell happened to you? You look so much older now, and you don't have nearly so much hair as you have in this photo." No sir, cameras and gravity (which sucks your flesh down toward the ground and results in giving you a hanging gut and wrinkles) are not your friends.

But the real reason I'm writing is that I became all excited when I saw that the topic of your post was lies. Lies are some of my favorite things and I thought I would share a few of my old reliables with you.

1) "I'm drunk." Actually, this is usually not a lie. However, there are occasions when, having been caught in an even worse lie or some despicable act (like when I strangled the neighbor's cat), it becomes necessary to feign that I'm inebriated beyond the point of reason. This has saved me on more occasions than I car to remember.

2) "I need a drink." Actually, this is also usually not a lie. However, I do use this in conjunction with going into some shaking so as to avoid unpleasant questions or conversation that may arise. I have also been known to use this right out of the blue to get a free whisky. Folks figure they don't want me going into some sort of diabetic fit or DTs or whatever on their property for fear of a lawsuit, so out comes the bottle and three or four shots later ol' Monty makes a full recovery. (There have been times my recovery has taken a whole fifth. It really depends on just how much I fancy the whisky being served.)

3) Two of my favorite leave-me-alone lies are: "I just threw up." (Curiously, this is also quite often not a lie.) And, "I have the clap." (Or whatever other disease suits you.) Trust me, no one wants a disease and no one wants puke on 'em. And what's really nice is that if you are, for example, at one of your favorite pubs, you won't have to leave. Your unwanted companion will be more than happy to get out just about as fast as his legs will carry him once he's received news of your condition.

4) "Don't you look lovely." This one is always a lie. The secret here is timing. Lay this one out there on some barmaid who's just gotten her hair done up and you could drink all night as if your words themselves were solid gold. When dealing with barkeeps (particularly women) I've found that it's always good to personalize your remarks as much as possible. For example, when dealing with fat barmaids you might say: "You know, you're just glowing tonight. What is it? Have you lost some weight perchance?" Or, here's another variation they lap up: "Why, I can't believe my eyes. You slip of a thing, why you're barely a shadow of your former self." They hear that and, let me tell you, they'll run around giggling and squealing like a stuck pig. They won't be able to pour the free booze down your gullet fast enough.

Anyway, I find that lies are greatly underrated. They're not only splendid to get one out of a tight spot, but they add some real spice to life in general.
I know what you're thinking: "So tell me, Monty, what happens when you get caught in one of your whoppers?" Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive and all that tommy rot, right? Well, let me tell you, there's no lie (or web of lies for that matter) that's so big or so tangled that a new, bigger and better lie can't cover the whole mess over and save your rear end -- at least long enough to let you finish your cocktail and duck out the back way.

Cheers!

[stephenesque]

"I am a human being" Lots of Elephant Men lie about that, especially when they are, in fact, really just a bunch of animals.

[Michelle]

Perhaps you could post these tidbits on a regular basis? I seem to be vomiting honesty lately...

[Monty]

My dear Michelle, honesty is a bad habit that can lead to a life of unhappiness.

Just consider these examples (all of which I have either personally been involved with or witnessed):

1) When someone rings you up to inquire as to why you haven't been in contact for some time (like a year), do you tell them the truth and say:
Sorry, love, but you're just too ugly. Which I hadn't really noticed the night I met you in the pub during the liquor blizzard.
Or, do you say something more gentlemanly and considerate, such as:
I've been meaning to call, but I was in South America working for UNICEF for several months and then I was in hospital with malaria --which I still have a touch of. But soon as I'm in the pink, you're at the top of my list to ring up.

2) When you run into someone who's wondering when you might be planning on paying back the hundred and twenty pounds that you borrowed and lost at the track, do you tell them the truth and say:
Sorry, love, but I've a feeling they'll be shoveling snow in hell before you see any of that money again.
Or do you look for a more tactful approach, something like:
Isn't it curious that I'd run into you. I was just thinking about you yesterday because I was mailing you a check for that money you were kind enough to loan me. But you know, after I mailed it, I was round to hospital to visit mum. As you've probably heard, she's not doing so well with the tumor and needs an operation and, well, I hate to ask, but do you suppose you could loan me another couple of hundred quid just so I can get her on the list for the operation?

3) And here's one I really feel badly about, but. . .
When someone calls and asks if you've seen puss about who's been missing for several days, do you callously say:
Sorry, love, but you can quit wasting your time looking for old puss, she's out in my garden sporting a set of Michelin treads.
Or are you a tad more thoughtful in your approach:
Old puss? Why no, haven't seen her, but I tell you what, I'll put a little saucer of milk out front and if whe happens by you'll be the first to know.

Now I leave it to you, Michelle, which approach do you think is more humane? Have a drink and think it over. And as long as you're making one for yourself, how about a quick one for old Monty? Thanks ever so much.

Cheers!