More or Less

Everybody lies. Or in a more palatable euphemism, everybody gets creative with the truth. If you think you are the exception to the rule ask yourself this question- Do you have a good relationship with at least one other human being on this planet? If you do, guess what? You are not totally honest all the time.
It is pretty hard to justify a different answer than Washington D.C. to the question “What is the capitol of the United States?” But if your special friend shows up in her favorite unflattering outfit and asks your opinion of it, to spare her feelings you are going to win an award in ingenuity in language.

I stretch my credibility quotient when I am faced with one of those questions that require divulging information I would just as soon never reaches the public domain. You know the type of question I’m talking about: How much do you weigh? (Pure gold is heavy) Have you had any work done? (I wish) You don’t work full time, do you need housecleaners? (You wouldn’t think so, would you), and the one I have the hardest time dealing with—How old are you?
It would be flattering if people thought I looked younger than I am, but the reason they doubt my age is really because people can’t believe I could have lived so long and remain so gullible. These are the ways I have chosen to handle the age question.

If the person who asks me seems to be under 8 years old, or super tolerant, I say I will forever be 27 on the inside. A very Zen way to beg the subject and sometimes the questioner will lose interest rather than press for reality.

Almost every woman I know has at one time, for reasons of her own, shaved a few years off her accumulated experience. I haven’t yet, but I found myself contemplating whether or not I could pass as younger the other day. That’s when it suddenly struck me—I was contemplating lying in the wrong direction. I might not pass for younger, but then again I might not pass for older either. When it comes right down to it, which would be more complimentary?

Say I am 55....if you know me just shut up until I’m finished . . . and I tell you I’m 50. On a good day, when I’ve had ten hours of sleep, the sun is behind a thick cloud cover, and none of my rat-fink friends are around, I may get away with that flight of fancy. At least for a few minutes. On a typical day you could look at me and think “Boy, that poor lady has had a rough life of hard work and deprivation.” I would imagine manners would keep your comments down to, “Really.”, but I’ve already read the disbelief on your face.

Now suppose I tell you I tell you I’m 60. On the aforementioned cloudy day I would be pleased to see a look of total incredulity on your face as I skip off in my red shoes with my dog Toto. More likely you’re thinking, “She looks very well preserved. I must find out which moisturizer she’s using.” Either way your face is telling me a nice story.

See what I mean about manipulating the truth in the wrong direction? I figure this might work with all the ultra-personal questions. Weight, salary, height for the guys (we know you all think you are ten foot tall and bullet proof), these are just some of the taboo subjects. It’s either exaggerate shamelessly or give into the temptation and soundly thump your questioner.

Now what was your question? Go ahead. Ask me. I dare you.