Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Manly Man, Leg Crosser or Intellectual: Part II (I told a lie)

Yes this is me . . . Elisa, and I told a lie, a fib really, but it gave me nightmares.  I swore I'd never do it again.

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"Did you read my stuff?" a sweet lady asked after four of us gathered for critique group.  The truth was I hadn't.  I wasn't her ideal audience and I had other things I'd done instead.  I know I sound mean, but having four kids leaves me with little free time.

Instead of telling her the truth I said, "My printer is ummm . . . broken."  I looked at the sky, the playground, my other friends' faces, my kids.  "Yeah.  It's not working.  I'm real sorry."

"That's too bad it's broken.  So you only read stuff if it's printed out, now?"

"Yep, pretty much.  And my printer's . . . not working."

"That's too bad."  

Why did she keep saying it was too bad?  Didn't she believe my lie?  What's wrong with people these days?  Can't they just let a lie be?  There was a reason I'd lied and she was being rude by saying it was too bad.  "The printer majiggy won't budge."  I put my hand in the air and moved in a "cartridge won't budge motion."  Then I wanted to kick myself.  "See, it's moving like this.  Cha ching.  Except there's no ching to go with my cha.  It's goes, cha . . . cha . . . cha."  I went on and on about the stupid printer like I was a printer repair woman!  It would have sounded more legit if I'd just stopped there.  But no, I went on like a lying idiot because I suck at lying!

That night God taught me a lesson about my big-fat tongue of doom.  I dreamed that Pinocchio chased me through the desert.  "You're a liar!  Liar, lair pants on fire.  Nose as long as a telephone wire."

"Is not," I screamed back, but touched my nose to make sure it wasn't growing.  I ran, scared of his Disney face with those pink cheeks.  He really freaked me out even more than a horror clown.  I slipped across sandy hills until I'd left him far behind.  I smiled greedily.  He couldn't run as fast as me; he still wasn't a real boy!  And he wasn't as fast as the gingerbread man!

Then as I cackled into the dry air I saw a tree in the desert!  It waited beautifully, and I knew I should pull it up and bring it home.

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I tugged on that tree, yanked on it with all my might.  Even though it was big, it started to come up easily.  The further it moved the more I noticed a problem.  It didn't have roots.  It had a face connected to that tree!  And it was Pinocchio's face.  I screamed.  The tree was his nose!!

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He jumped from the ground and drug his nose behind him. "You're a liar! A big fat liar."  I woke up.  That's when I swore I wouldn't lie again.  Too bad I broke my rule yesterday.

I wrote a blog about my husband and my brother.  It's called Manly Man, Leg Crosser or Intellectual 
I didn't want to come out and say hey, my husband refuses to sit when he pees and he won't cross his legs to save his life.  I felt it would be equally bad to write that my brother crosses his legs and sits when he pees.  So instead, I called them "Charlie" and "Nate"--quite nice names if you ask me.  Then in an effort to smooth the whole "identity change," I made them blood brothers instead of brothers by law.

My brother (the leg crosser) who is actually my hero, read my blog.  I thought that was pretty cool.  He's really one of my favorite people in the entire world.  He used to hang out with me for hours.  Our Dad always worked away from home and my brother was there when my dad couldn't be.  He played sepa with me.  We played tether ball (which I always won even though I'm nine years younger and I'll be dreaming about Pinocchio after writing that.)  He read countless books to me, helped me with homework, jammed with me on our instruments, created silly messages on the answering machine.  The list goes on and on, so much that I can honestly write: my brother was and is one of the biggest influences in my life.  He helped make me into the woman I am.  Because of his generosity with his time and love, I was able to stand strong when I got married VERY young and then later when my son died.  My brother taught me what life is about: family and love and taking care of each other because family is what lasts.

So that's why, when he called yesterday and wanted to know who I'd written Manly Man, Leg Crosser or Intellectual about, I had to lie.  It was a Pinocchio summoning sort of lie.  "I'm actually scared to know who this is about," he said.

"It's about . . . Cade."

"And who else?"

"Ummm."  I looked around the room.  I hoped something would help me.  "It's about Cade and . . . his brother."

"His brother?"

"Yes.  He crosses his legs."

"That's interesting.  It's a funny thing because I cross my legs too."

I was in trouble.  "But so does Cade's brother."  What had I been thinking?  He'd known the truth of course--he'd been there for the entire thing.  Cade even asked him if he pees sitting!  We hung up shortly after, and I felt worse than a mouse in a mouse trap. 

I called my mom.  "What do I do?  I lied.  I lied hard!"

"Tell him the truth," she said.

"I can't."

"You can."

So I called and told him.  I told him everything.

"You don't need to lie to me."

"I'm sorry . . . but you said you were scared to know who it was about.  That scared you and then it scared me."

"Well, I'm going to leave you a comment," he said.  Then when I checked my blog late last night he had indeed left a comment.  You have to read it because it's gold, pure and sweet.

Here it it:

Anonymous said...
This story sounds vaguely familiar... Perhaps it is because I’m the author’s brother, or that I’m an engineer. Or, maybe, it’s because we had this exact conversation! And yes, her now-spouse asked me if I pee sitting. And, yes, I do on occasion. Why? I don’t know. And, no, I don’t care who knows. I would have you know I just called she-who-shall-not-be-named and asked her who this post was about, and she had the shear gall to lie! She lied to the older brother who read to her for hours on end; the older brother who pushed her for miles around the house on her tricycle. For shame. For shame. To amend the record, I would say there is a correct and an incorrect way to go into a full crossing of the legs. Of the utmost importance is to ensure the tender bits are out of the way first. Otherwise, said legs become the jaws of a nut cracker. Second, do not play with the legs, bobbing the ankle up and down or swinging the distal end about. This may indeed threaten a male’s manliness. Finally, limit the time spent in such a position. For while comfortable in the short term, it can cause a lack of circulation in certain critical areas. It brings to mind the words blue and ball , and no one wants to see that. Shame on you EC Writes for misleading the public. Shame on you.

I'm sorry I told a lie, but this comment was well worth it.  So, I told a lie, confessed, got an awesome comment on my blog and didn't dream about Pinocchio, all in all I think everything turned out all right.