So I lie. A lot. Is that a problem?
As seen from my last blog, ya’ll have been a witness to my adventures in deception and dishonesty. But it continues, at a consistent rate that I didn’t even know existed until the fabrications are spinning faster out of my mouth than Usain Bolt in a 100-meter dash.
Why do I lie? I really don’t know. I don’t have issues really. Well, besides the fact that I am a secret-schizophrenic (even that is a lie!). I’m not really trying to compensate for anything. Yes, my Dodge Caliber has a bigger engine than your Ford F-350. I really don’t know why I do it. All the time. And sometimes, it does indeed backfire.
Take for instance last night. So my dear friend Mark Roberts and I decided to go to dinner at Samurai 21, while a threesome of his dear girl friends tagged along. They were nice, sweet, physically attractive, and oh did I mention about as smart as a West Virginian eggplant? Yes, add that to their qualities.
I tried to make conversations. I tried to be nice. I asked one of the three what her plans were for the summer.
“Oh, I have cheer camp.” She said.
“Wow, that’s cool that you’re going to be a cheerleader for Dixie. Are you an incoming freshman?”
“No, I’m a junior.”
“Wow! That’s pretty neat. You look pretty young for a junior at Dixie State College.”
“No, no, no,” she cut me off. “I’m a junior at Dixie High School.”
I instantly paid more attention to the folds in my napkin than I did to the pre-pubescent creature tagging along.
I woke up a few minutes later from my ignoring phase as the blondes started asking me questions about my life, where I’m from, what I’m doing. This was where the lies started to unfold.
I told them that I had just moved into St. George the night before and met Mark at a party. I moved cross-country from Virginia Beach, Virginia. I didn’t really know much about the area or city. (May I note that I was wearing a Dixie State 2009 Homecoming T-shirt as I said this) I told them that I was working for the VDOT back east, and had received a job to work for UDOT over here.
“It’s because I like vowels better than consonants.” I said. The eggplants gave me blank stares back.
The cock-and-bull story continued as I asked them what a “Mormon” was. I had heard a few things about the religion when I was growing up in Virginia Beach and didn’t really know anything about them. I, of course, was a born and raised agnostic, and didn’t really care about any religion in the first place.
Their stares only got more blank as the deceitful vocabulary poured from my lips.
I kept the charade going for around 20 minutes asking them about “Mormonism” and who John Smith was, and why they all had 10 wives. This was all ruined when our dear hostess, the infamous Paige Conrow approached the table and put me to shame.
“Hey, do you have Tiana Heid’s phone number?” She said. “I need to get a hold of her so I can drop off the manual. She’s teaching Relief Society this Sunday and I have to get it back to her.”
From across the table the blonde eggplants blank stares turned into malicious glares as my fallacy unraveled and I looked like a complete buffoon.
Curse you Paige Conrow. Curse you!
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