I’m not good at lying. I’m not even terribly good at telling the truth. If I think my interlocutor doubts my word I get flustered and stuttery just as though I really were lying. So as for actual lies, I try to avoid them. If I know I am likely to need to protect someone from the truth, i.e. when a girl asks about my other girls, I try to get a little drunk first.
I’ve witnessed some girls tell lies to others. Absolutely cold-blooded, bare-faced, cheerful spinners of shit. They seemed to enjoy it and treat it with less distaste than wiping their bums.
Case 1: A girl was over at my place late because her parents were out and she could safely break curfew. I hasten to add, she’s 25. This is Asia. Her dad rang and asked her to find a bag that he’d left at home. She pretended to be looking for it, chiding him, ‘I can’t see it. You must have left it somewhere else.’ Then came back to bed and chirpily related the story. Now, I have been known to tell the odd porky pie when required but I would never feel good about lying to my parents, regardless of the circumstances. For her it was about as troubling as drinking a glass of dessert wine.
Case 2: This is a revolting story. Even if you’re a hardened reader of mine you might want to skip over this one. I was over at a girl’s house, getting down and dirty, when her phone rang. It was her boyfriend. She has a nice little chat with him, telling him that she was over at another friend’s house. ‘Love you, bye bye.’ She hung up and immediately started snogging me again. I was taken aback and needed a bit of a time out but for her it was like she’d just stopped to scratch her nose – she couldn’t understand what my problem was.
This may be why I have ‘trust issues’. Any man over 30 ought to.
Further reading: Immorality and the Covert Contract