I Fail at Lying

When I told Jill the tale of my sidewalk faceplant the other day, I assured her that when telling the tale to friends and strangers, I'd be sure to make up a thrilling, courageous, chivalric lie about the incident so that people wouldn't think she had a boyfriend who routinely fell down in the street like an old man.

Well, today I went to 7-11 for the first time since the fall and had an opportunity to flex my deceit muscles.  When asked by the clerk about the fresh scabs and scrapes on my face, my mind flirted with a multitude of responses.  "What happened?" he asked, gesturing to his own nose and mouth.

Potential responses:

• "A meteor."
• "A friend hit me in the face with a baseball bat while trying to knock a wolverine off my head."
• "I'm a paparazzo, and Mickey Rourke is in town."
• "The first rule of Fight Club is you do not talk about Fight Club."
• "I'm Batman."

But, no...when faced with the potential for creative fiction, I inevitably turn to the boring ol' facts.

"I fell down on the sidewalk."