I don’t like to lie.
I was raised to tell the truth, even if it was difficult.
Like when my Mom’s stained-glass lamp broke. But let’s not talk about that…
I take after my Mom in that there is no “bull” with me; if you ask my opinion, I’ll give you an honest one. Sure, I will temper it to be nice, but you’re still getting the truth.
Here’s an example: if we’re out shopping, and a friend asks me if a blouse looks good on her, but I know it makes her look like she just fell off a turnip truck, I don’t tell her that. Why? Because I like to keep my friends. I’ll say something like, “Hmmmm…let’s try this one instead.” She inherently knows that it doesn’t look good, but she’s probably gotten so excited about trying on another one that she doesn’t focus on this.
Friendship saved.
But there is one instance in which my dear Mom would lie. I’ve discovered that I do the same thing.
So what do I lie about?
My age?
Nope. Every day above ground is a good day for me.
My hair color?
Nope. It’s my natural color…but now my stylist puts it on me.
My dear readers—and I hope that this won’t cause you to throw down the newspaper or log off the computer after you hear my dirty little secret—I lie…
When I’m asleep.
Yep. You read that right. Let me explain.
We have a really comfortable couch. If I’m tired, and we’re watching TV at night, I may just fall asleep on it.
And that’s when my pants explode into flames…metaphorically speaking, of course.
Here’s how it goes: my husband, noticing I’m asleep, will turn the TV off.
“Hey, I’m watching that,” I exclaim a bit fuzzily.
“Michele, you stopped laughing at any of the jokes,” he replies.
“Yes, I was. You just couldn’t hear me,” I lie.
I couldn’t tell you if it was funny or not. You know why? Because I was asleep!
It’s not that being asleep on the couch is considered shameful in our home. Not at all. I fall asleep there. So does my husband. So do the dogs. Sometimes, we all do at the same time. So it’s not something I think I need to lie about.
Yet I do.
My Mom used to do the same thing. She would swear that she was watching the television program that was on. She wasn’t. Then she’d open her eyes wide or sit up and declare that she absolutely was interested in the show on TV and wasn’t sleeping.
Until a few minutes later…zzzzzzzzzzzzzz…
I take after her.
I remember being a teenager and playing cards with my friend, Julie. We were sitting at her parents’ kitchen table. The phone rang, and she answered it and starting talking. She was taking too long with her turn. So I put my head down on the table…just for a minute.
The next thing I knew, she was pulling the cards out of my hand. “Hey, I’m playing! I was waiting for you to take your turn!”
She had taken her turn 20 minutes before, she yelled.
Oops.
My husband has figured out how to catch me.
Say if I were to look as though I was asleep on the couch. I’m not admitting to anything, mind you, I’m just giving this as a ridiculous example that would never happen.
He’s noticed that I’m not laughing. He may have noticed that my breathing has regulated and gotten a bit deeper in tone.
“Michele, Come on. Let’s go to bed,” he’ll say as he turns off the TV. “You’re not laughing.”
“Maybe I just don’t think it’s funny,” I’ll reply.
“Okay, then tell me what was going on. What’s happening in the story?” he’d ask.
Dang it. Goodnight, all.
Michele Wojciechowski, when she’s not intently watching television with her eyes closed–NOT sleeping, writes “Wojo’s World®” from her home office.
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