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ONLY THE LIAR
KNOWS THE TRUTH
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We've become a nation of liars.
I humbly believe it all began in 1967, when Donald Trump and I
watched the movie, "A Guide for the Married Man," starring Walter
Matthau and Inger Stevens. I doubt anyone remembers it except for me and
Don, so I'll fill you in.
Walter Matthau plays a character who pesters his philandering
friend on how to cheat on your wife. The answer is basically to deny, deny,
deny.
The scene that sticks in Don's and my memory is when Walter's
wife, Inger Stevens, walks in when Walter is in bed with another woman.
Naturally, Inger goes batty, yelling and screaming. But Walter is
unperturbed, and he and his date quietly get out of bed and get dressed.
While Inger continues her tirade and the date walks out the
door, Walter begins to deny that he was ever in bed with anyone. The scene
ends with him sitting in his living room chair reading the newspaper and
smoking his pipe, again denying anything happened.
Inger is now confused, questioning what she saw and beginning
to believe she imagined the whole scene. Walter gets away with his
infidelity and the movie moves on.
Sound incredulous? Well, so does denying the 2020 election.
The difference between me and Donald is that I thought the
movie scene was hilarious. Donald just considered it gospel and he's
followed the concept ever since.
Research shows that somewhere between an astounding 8 and 13
percent of us are pathological liars, so Donald Trump is not alone. But he
may surpass the average pathological liar's quota of two whoppers per day.
Deny, deny, deny. And sometimes it hits close to home, as it
did recently with an incident I've lovingly named, "Towelgate."
This may sound incredibly inconsequential, but here goes.
During a recent gathering of friends and family at our house, someone took
my cherished bathroom towel. It has completely disappeared, never to be
found.
Yes, there have been more serious crimes but I was determined
to find the culprit. I loved that towel. Perfect texture, brilliant tan
color. I identified 21 suspects who had access to my bathroom during that
fateful weekend and interrogated all of them. Everyone denied
responsibility, which left only one conclusion.
Someone was lying.
After careful consideration, I decided the 10-month old and the
1 1/2 year old grandchildren were off the hook. That left 19 suspects,
including a few teenagers. Naturally, I zeroed in on them.
"Rumor has it you took the towel, used it in the other
bathroom for your 'Spa Day' and spilled hair dye on it and threw it
away," I charged. "It's not a big deal, but lying about it is.
Fess up, please."
No dice. They denied, denied, denied. I didn't believe them,
since most teenagers are born to lie. Ultimately, I discovered a video a
parent had taken of their "Spa Day." I eagerly watched it,
anticipating the spotting of my tan towel and blowing their denial out of
the water.
No tan towel, just white ones. Maybe, just maybe, they were
telling the truth.
"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE TOWEL!" I texted to all the
suspects. "I just want someone to admit they innocently took it and
perhaps accidentally destroyed it."
Silence. No one could believe I was spending so much time, let
alone any time, over a stupid towel. But I was obsessed with finding the
culprit, and I wasn't about to give up.
I talked to each adult individually, and they all denied it. I
then sunk to a new low and questioned my 3-year old grandson, who looked at
me like I was from another planet. And then denied it.
In the end, I came up empty. Someone was not telling the truth
and they were going to get away with it. My towel was gone, and I would
never know who or why.
Towelgate had become a cold case. Maybe someday, if the missing
towel ever shows up (although I've searched everywhere) we can get a DNA
sample and catch the culprit. Until then, although I have absolutely no
proof, I'm going to blame it on the teenagers.
And they didn't even see the movie.
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