Please Forgive Me
I make up stories, I always have. Delivery is everything, setting a scene, painting a picture...making claims without so much as a blink...
Today I told a tall one. I mentioned on social media how there was an artist who resembled the actor who played Elf and for $48 he'll reenact the "You're my dad" scene from the movie. I said I was thinking about doing this for my best friend's birthday.
My main objective is to make people laugh...to add a light shake of humor onto their mashed potatoes of ordinary. Most who know me realize there is a BS meter that is often leaning towards full.
So after the post, I received three instant messages asking for the website of this singing telegram artist for hire. I'm not sure what to say. For now I simply answered, LOL. What if I'm asked at point blank? What if I meet up with one of my friends and have to admit my BS eye to eye? If it happens that way, I'll just tell the truth. What else can I say?
The ability to redirect my imagination onto paper has been a life saver for me. In the real world, I can tell a made up story so well, that people can not determine if it's fact or fiction. My mom used to accuse me of "fibbing," in fact, there was one point she had reached her limit.
"They're just stories." I replied. They were just stories too, with the main characters being people that I knew and variations of real events as they happened. I could take mundane and do a rewrite to make it fun and entertaining.
"You're going to confession!" Mom announced one Saturday morning. "Someone needs to keep you in check...and by the way, you're way out of control. When you told the neighbor that your dad hooked up an old bicycle to a generator that powered the washing machine and she believed you...well, I didn't know what to say. I finally had to tell her the truth. It was embarrassing...she thought your dad was very, very cheap."
So, I entered the dank confessional that reeked of wintergreen oil. The priest slid the screen open and I stared at the blanket of emptiness before me. I wasn't sure what to say. The truth was, I couldn't stop myself...I just couldn't.
"My mom thinks that I've lied on multiple occasions...but I wouldn't call it lying exactly."
The priest responded, "oh, why don't you elaborate."
For the next thirty minutes I spun some creative whoppers. Each chuckle led to more stories. It all just took flight. The priest fell into a barrel roll of laughter...so much that a huge line of impatient sinners waiting outside began to wonder if they were holding place for confession or a comedy club.
"So, as you see, I have a chronic problem with the truth..." I admitted near the end.
"Ah..." Priest said as he coughed his way back to reality.
"I can't stop myself...my imagination takes over and then no one knows which end is up."
"It's fun, right?"
"Yes sir."
So he suggested the standard penance of ten Hail Mary's and I was supposed to return every few weeks to report my progress as such. I was always asked to elaborate, I was always given "ten Hail Mary's" to set things right again.
In hindsight maybe having such a struggle is not such a bad thing. An Elf singing telegram... I can't think of a more light hearted scene on a Thursday afternoon...so, please forgive me!~
Today I told a tall one. I mentioned on social media how there was an artist who resembled the actor who played Elf and for $48 he'll reenact the "You're my dad" scene from the movie. I said I was thinking about doing this for my best friend's birthday.
My main objective is to make people laugh...to add a light shake of humor onto their mashed potatoes of ordinary. Most who know me realize there is a BS meter that is often leaning towards full.
So after the post, I received three instant messages asking for the website of this singing telegram artist for hire. I'm not sure what to say. For now I simply answered, LOL. What if I'm asked at point blank? What if I meet up with one of my friends and have to admit my BS eye to eye? If it happens that way, I'll just tell the truth. What else can I say?
The ability to redirect my imagination onto paper has been a life saver for me. In the real world, I can tell a made up story so well, that people can not determine if it's fact or fiction. My mom used to accuse me of "fibbing," in fact, there was one point she had reached her limit.
"They're just stories." I replied. They were just stories too, with the main characters being people that I knew and variations of real events as they happened. I could take mundane and do a rewrite to make it fun and entertaining.
"You're going to confession!" Mom announced one Saturday morning. "Someone needs to keep you in check...and by the way, you're way out of control. When you told the neighbor that your dad hooked up an old bicycle to a generator that powered the washing machine and she believed you...well, I didn't know what to say. I finally had to tell her the truth. It was embarrassing...she thought your dad was very, very cheap."
So, I entered the dank confessional that reeked of wintergreen oil. The priest slid the screen open and I stared at the blanket of emptiness before me. I wasn't sure what to say. The truth was, I couldn't stop myself...I just couldn't.
"My mom thinks that I've lied on multiple occasions...but I wouldn't call it lying exactly."
The priest responded, "oh, why don't you elaborate."
For the next thirty minutes I spun some creative whoppers. Each chuckle led to more stories. It all just took flight. The priest fell into a barrel roll of laughter...so much that a huge line of impatient sinners waiting outside began to wonder if they were holding place for confession or a comedy club.
"So, as you see, I have a chronic problem with the truth..." I admitted near the end.
"Ah..." Priest said as he coughed his way back to reality.
"I can't stop myself...my imagination takes over and then no one knows which end is up."
"It's fun, right?"
"Yes sir."
So he suggested the standard penance of ten Hail Mary's and I was supposed to return every few weeks to report my progress as such. I was always asked to elaborate, I was always given "ten Hail Mary's" to set things right again.
In hindsight maybe having such a struggle is not such a bad thing. An Elf singing telegram... I can't think of a more light hearted scene on a Thursday afternoon...so, please forgive me!~
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