What exactly is the difference between telling a lie, or making up a good story?
Just before Christmas you may remember I left my
right arm iphone in a taxi, and even though I missed it almost immediately, it was too late, Mr Taxi took off and I was left phoneless. I believed in the goodness of people, and trusted that it would only be a matter of days before we were reunited. I’m still waiting!
However a great friend had lost hers, replaced it and subsequently found it again (don’t ask), so we did a deal and I was once again in possession of a phone. Every day since I’ve appreciated my phone, and we are practically inseparable. We even sleep together.
My previous phone had a lovely cover on it, with photos of the family, a present from my kids, that some fecker probably cast away when he ‘found’ my phone. In it’s place my daughter gave me a temporary cheap cover, not really one I’d have much confidence in actually protecting my phone from damage. A couple of weeks ago, after a particularly close escape in which my phone fell and I kid you not, bounced a considerable height, I decided I’d diced with danger long enough, so I went online and ordered one, spending way too long choosing what colour cover I would prefer, before settling for a purple one.
Until it arrived I became a nervous wreck, convinced that Murphys Law would strike, and that just as my new cover arrived I’d smash my screen. My caution payed off and my phone was still in one piece when the cover arrived. My ‘hot pink’ cover! Not dusky purple, but roasting, smoking hot pink. Not very you, my youngest said.
I decided I couldn’t wait to return it, just in case I ran out of luck. I began to put it on my phone, but try as I might I couldn’t get it to fit. I got the top part covered and then the sides, but no way would it cover the bottom end. I tried and tried, and tried some more, getting more and more frustrated by the second. Feck, Feck, Feck. I checked the box to make sure it was the correct cover. Yes. I tried another twenty times but no luck. Eventually, my temper barely under control I began to fantasise about throwing the blasted phone against the wall, and in truth the thought of the screen smashing filled me with delight. I even thought of bringing in a hammer from the shed to smash it to bits. Thankfully, just in time I decided to walk away, putting the phone on the table I fecked the cover across the floor, breathing heavily.
I texted my daughter later telling her that my new cover was
the wrong feckin size, poorly manufactured, and there was no way it would fit. She was more than surprised and suggested I might be doing it wrong (there is only one way to put on a cover!). I told her I’d kept the packaging and it would have to go back.
I was back to being careful again.
Later that evening my youngest picked up that poxy hot pink cover, and asked why it wasn’t on my phone. I took it off her and told her my tale of woe. I then took out the cover to show her what I meant. As I did so I stopped in horror and looked at her. She began to laugh “Mom, did you forget to take the old cover off?”
I had. What an eejit. No wonder it wouldn’t fit. Immediately I bribed her never to tell my eldest, and because she’s my youngest and still loves me she hasn’t. I removed the old cover and in one second flat the new cover easily slipped onto my phone. Later, when the eldest noticed it, I explained that there must have been a fault with it, but that after soaking the cover in hot water for ten minutes, I was able to stretch it and it eventually fitted. She believed me.
Is it wrong that I feel proud that I am such an accomplished liar, or as I like to think of it, a great story teller?