Let me tell you the tale that led to this post.
My husband and I pulled up to the gas station. He said, “If I pump, will you run on and grab the cigarettes?” That is usually the plan, and I hopped to it. When I got inside, I opened my wallet and remembered. This morning, T.D. snatched my debit card out of my purse. I grabbed it off of him, and thought I threw it in the blackhole that is my purse.
I took my bag back to the car and tore through it. C.S. Then informs me that the pump isn’t accepting his card because it’s too worn. My anxiety flaired up, “It’s not here. It has to be at home.”
C.S. huffed, “I guess we have to go back home and get it. Where is it?”
I answered in a panicked voice, “I don’t know. I have to look.”
I ripped through the house in a panic. Not on the table, not on the bookshelf, not in the basket, not anywhere. I dumped my purse on the sofa and still there was no sign of it. C.S. was sitting in the car staring at me. Time and patience was wearing out. I made the last ditch effort and rechecked my wallet. It was there I discovered that my debit card was in another compartment of my wallet. It had been with me the whole time.
I got back in the car and C.S. asked, “Where was it?”
Sometimes, we don’t intentionally lie. It just happens. But then, there are other other times.
I am about the bluntest person you would ever meet. I don’t play games and I don’t manipulate. I don’t out and out lie. In fact, I am pretty much incapable of lying. It actually causes physical and emotional distress.
However, I have been known to drop little white lies. I have lied to avoid a useless argument. I have deceived people to protect myself. And I have lied to save myself from a serious consequence.
How many lies do we tell in a day? To others? To ourselves?
I find myself lying in small ways everyday. For awhile, I lied to myself about my weight gain. I lied to myself when I said that I’d start my diet tomorrow, with every single cookie.
I lie to my husband. Usually about stupid stuff because I didn’t want to start an argument. His is the only opinion in the world that I care about. So I don’t want to tell him that I need that nap in the afternoon. Or tell him anything else that would change his opinion of me. That’s sad, really sad. But it’s the truth.
I have a lot of confessing to do. In private.
Do we all really lie? And what about?