...pants on fire

I would like to say, "I never lie." However, saying that would in and of itself be a lie. That's right, I lie, so do you. And according to a researcher at the University of Massachusetts, whose report has sat as an open tab in my browser for far too long waiting for me to write this post, a reported "60 percent of people lie at least once during a 10-minute conversation and tell an average of two to three lies." If you do the math for a whole day...it's a lot of lies being told.

The study speaks about the differing content of the lies of women versus men. One being to make another feel good and the other being to make the liar look better. The study found "women were more likely to lie to make the person they were talking to feel good." I get this and think that it has been the motivation for a great number of the lies I've told in the past, "I love it!" or "You were the best I've ever had," etc. But, I think that is only half of the truth. Women lie all the time to make themselves look better. (see: makeup, fake eyelashes, hairspray, Spanx, push-up bras, etc.) If you ask a woman how much she weighs (note: DO NOT EVER DO THIS), I have my money on the fact that she will lie.

We all have our own motivations for being dishonest, but I began to think back at some of my most notorious lies. Now, I am not a huge liar. I think honesty is the best policy and I have a very guilty conscience. If I lie, I quite often come back and tell on myself. But, I do have one lie that I told that still makes me giggle to this day. The ridiculousness of it is outstanding. And, it was all told in the vain of looking better.


My family moves. A lot. Or, moved. A lot. Growing up I went to eight different schools before I graduated from high school. My parents had this extraordinary knack for finding the least opportune time to uproot our lives. It was usually just as I was getting used to our latest destination. Seventh grade, which is also known as the worst grade ever. Everyone in seventh grade is ugly and awkward. It is this pit of hormones and puberty and none of it is pretty. We moved in October during my seventh grade year. Everyone was settled into their school routine and cliques already were formed. Then, I bust up on the scene. Let's just say I wasn't Ms. Popularity when I arrived. The kids in the upper class community in Memphis, Tennessee were very different than the kids I went to school with in South Florida. They were very different than me. Or, I was different than them...whatever. Anyway, I made one really good friend- April. April lived just down the street from me and we had a lot in common. We began to talk on the phone and hang out. We'd go on walks in the neighborhood and trespass on the golf course that backed up to our subdivision. She was a welcome distraction from my normal activities of going home and crying and complaining to my mom about how I hated Memphis and wanted to move back to Florida. There was one very big difference between April and I. She smoked. I didn't. Enter: My Lying.

I cooked up all kinds of excuses for why I couldn't smoke with her in my head, but when it came down to that moment where she offered me a smoke all rational lies flew out the window. I panicked. I was like a deer in the headlights. Paralyzed. I blurted out, "I used to smoke, but I quit. I don't want to start back up." What? I love the image of me being some hard core smoker in fifth grade and having to kick the habit and go on the patch. She responded, "Oh, that's cool. Yeah, I should quit some time." Wait, she bought it? Or did she? Were we both staring at each other lying our faces off knowing that the other one was just as much a liar as we were? Was our attempt to save face so desperate that we would tell and accept any lie? Apparently, yes.

This lie went on for well over a year, basically until our friendship started to fade and she started taking prescription pills for fun. She was well ahead of me. It would be years before I did this.

Anyway, it makes me laugh because I wonder what would have happened if my seventh grade self had just looked her in the eye and said, "No, I don't really have any desire to smoke." Life would have probably been easier. You see, if I had the courage to say that to my one friend, I probably would have had more than one friend. If I had the attitude of "take me or fucking leave me," I probably would have surprised myself how many people would chose not to walk away. They (whoever "they" are) say that nothing is more attractive than confidence. That could be a lie, but I buy it.

While I have more confidence than that seventh grade girl I once was, I still think we can all learn a lesson from her and her mistakes.

What would happen if we stopped looking for acceptance in lies? How would our lives change if we always told the truth...no matter what? Is honesty always the best policy?