I'm a Liar

They say that the first step to recovery is acknowledging that you have a problem. Maybe it's a result of my distant relationship to George Washington. True! He's my Great-great-great-great-great etc Uncle or some such thing. Actually, we're just related by marriage. His wife Martha Custis was related to my dad. Boy was I proud of that as a kid. ( Even though all my classmates would accuse me of lying). But I just thought of it as embellishing. And I still do. Oh come on, they're not big lies, just little ones that I tell when I'm worried that if I tell the truth someone will get mad. Like when I cancel a doctor's appointment and pretend I have a flat tire because the notion of fasting through my sacred coffee hour just didn't compute.

I never really thought much about the motivation for lying until my oldest daughter turned 13 and began to bend the truth in that way that 13 year-olds do. I was apopleptic the first time I caught her telling a whopper. Then I read Anthony Wolf's Get Out Of My Life, But First Could You Drive Cheryl And Me To The Mall? He sums up the lying phenomenon pretty succinctly; and of course, it makes total sense. Kids lie to stay out of trouble. Me too!

Even though I consider myself an extremely upright and solid citizen, in the past week I have told bald-faced lies to the Department of Motor Vehicles (really, can you blame me?), my new neighbor, the children's dentist, an overly-solicitous bank teller, and an inquisitive barista (see my blog post: Say it Again, Sam).

So when my ten year-old confirms that he brushed and flossed when I know darn well he left his toothbrush at his friend's house last Saturday night, I really can't take issue. I may be a liar, but I'll be damned if I'm a hypocrite!

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