Today I lied to the store clerk. “I grew up on the coast,” I said. “We ate fish all the time.”
In truth, I grew up thousands of miles from either coast. The first time I had shrimp, I was in sixth grade and was having dinner at the neighbors. I thought it chewy and somewhat alien.
Why lie, then? Why deceive someone I will likely never see again and have absolutely no reason to impress?
I have no answers. It is just part of my fabric, I guess. I am a liar. Lies: They roll off my tongue. They come naturally and easily. They set me apart from my miserable, average self.
Perhaps the person I am trying to impress is me. But, perhaps that too is just a lie.
No comments:
Post a Comment