When a parent tells me that their child could not have lied to them, I fight to the urge to laugh and ask, “Really? Ever lie to your own parents? When did that start?”
Although I was the perfect daughter *shining my halo* I did tell the occasional lie when the situation called for it. (Hey mom!) Mostly to my dad and mostly to avoid a huge scene over something stupid.
Lorie thought about starting a business in college as she perfected her ability to let a golden lie slip right off her tongue and keeping her eyelashes perfectly unbatted. I do not recall the exact name, though with her perfect memory, she definitely could fill in the blank here. I think it was something like “Lies R Us. Lies for your gals and guys.”
I wonder then, when does the lying really begin? Adam generally gives me shades of the truth and has not yet reached the stage of out and out lies. Mostly it falls under the category of “Let me dazzle you with some shiny BS to distract you from the truth.”
Let me translate for you:
Mommy, I’m just drinking apple juice: I’m standing on my stool in the kitchen drinking pear juice straight from the can you foolishly left on the counter.
I’m just thinking about getting a pet: I’m really thinking about how I’m gonna suck down the rest of that pear juice without alerting you enough to come in here.
Chipmunks aren’t stinky. They don’t poop: I have no earthly idea what a chipmunk smells like. Please do not go into the kitchen. Alternately, can we get a chipmunk?
Do not come in here: Please do not come in here. I’ve been drinking pear juice and I sense that you’re about to lose your shizzle with me.
Where’s the potty here? We are at the park. I’d like to explore the cleanliness of public surfaces. With my face.
Consider this my PSA for the day.