I lied to my husband the other day. To his face, I let the lie roll off my tongue into his trust and care. One day later with my guilt—anchored in my stormy soul—I confessed to my little sister.
“I did something bad.” I said, looking out the window like it was some forecast into my grim future.
“What now?” She said, my statement bouncing off her ears. She’d heard that statement too many times from her foul older sister.
“I lied to my husband.”
“I ordered an enlarged canvas print of one of his photographs.”
“And he told me not to, because the resolution was so low it would look terrible. He said he’d reshoot, but it might be ten more years before he’d reshoot and I was really impatient. So I ordered it as is, even though they warned me it might look like pixilated puke. It should be delivered this week.”
“So you lied to him about ordering it?”
“Oh no, he knows I ordered it with the low resolution. I told him I was feeling lucky.
“So you lied about feeling lucky.”
“No, I lied when I told him it was twenty bucks. We’d only be out twenty bucks for a crappy canvas print. And because it was only twenty dollars, he wasn’t as disappointed that I indulged my impatience and stupidity all at once.”
“But it was really forty bucks?”
“Eighty. I was really eighty bucks.”
Then my sister gazed out of the same window. As if she agreed. Indeed, that future does look a little gloomy.
I forgot that my sister has a penchant for announcing my sins at inconvenient times in front of interested parties.
This time she did it by pretending to talk in code, which always attract/annoys people. Humans are bothered by codes which is why they seek to decode. I should’ve seen it coming.
“Dad, ask Courtney about the really INEXPENSIVE print she bought this week.” My sister, my clumsy confidant did this with my husband on the couch next to my dad.
Exhausted from the hiding the truth, I cut to the core and confessed to my spouse. But this time I used ample theatrics with those wet things that drip from the eyes.
“I am so pathetic! I am a liar and a sinner!” I wailed. Tears are always Plan B. A spontaneous back rub should be Plan B, but I am generally too tired.
“You’re cute.” He said, sorta sarcastically.
“And I’m out eighty bucks.” I sobbed.
(I play the role until all is safe.)
The canvas came in the mail two days ago.
If you stand a couple feet away it looks sharp. When my husband came home and saw it hanging in the kitchen he was impressed.
“You were feeling lucky.” He winked.
Only, then I remembered that I wasn't really feeling lucky at the time. That was a lie too. After I ordered the print I went into my room, got on my knees and prayed for a miracle.
For more of Courtney and a post by me, head on over to C Jane Enjoy It.
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