At a young age we’re taught that lying is a socially unacceptable act. In fact, in some circles it’s considered unforgivable. My mother must have done an especially good job at ingraining this rule in my mind, as I am pretty much incapable of telling a successful lie. Even if I attempt to fabricate a lie out of thin air my physiological response (intense blushing and perspiration) gives me away immediately. Or just as I gain the conviction to tell the lie, I change my mind on a dime and begin to spew the unadulterated truth, usually TMI. Yes, I occasionally partake in a white lie or two, in order to a) protect someone’s feelings b) save face, or c) avoid plans that I know I’m not going to keep – I’m only human after all. There is one type of lie, however, that I’ve become an absolute master of – lying to myself – something I imagine we’re all guilty of.
I will not buy any more sour candy
Reality: Upon Googling ‘Sour Watermelon Candy’ images, I am salivating and can’t imagine another day without it.
I have to leave the party early
Reality: End up being the last person to leave the party.
I’m gonna get up early and go for a run
Reality: Sleep in, and then enjoy a stack of delectable pancakes from the comfort of my very own bed.
I will not eat half the jar of peanut butter in 48 hours
Reality: I will eat the entire jar of peanut butter in 48 hours.
He likes me
Reality: He likes me not.
I’m just gonna stay for ONE drink, I mean it!
Reality: I can’t even remember that first drink I bought, but I do have an incriminating receipt for 2 shots of double Patron…
I’m NEVER using Tinder again
Reality: Go through the cycle of deleting and reinstalling the app at least 5 times a year.
You know what?
I don’t think we have anything to feel bad about if these are the lies we tell. Anyways, it’s better to believe the best in ourselves, right? Things could be worse.
the rêve head 