“Oh, what a tangled web we weave / When first we practice to deceive.” Sir Walter Scott
Taught early and often, don’t lie. After all, we learned that with deceit come complications that demand further incrimination. Worse yet, trust diminishes when the deception is discovered. Even worse, self-regard fades. The sooner we admit our dishonesty, the better we feel. Only sometimes judgement is advisable.
Take the time Mary Anne was in our computer room.
“Marv, I’ve been hearing rustling noises. Could you look?”
“Sure, why don’t you go out and I’ll close the door behind you just in case it’s a mouse.”
At that, Mary Anne immediately left the room. She is frightened by rodents. I looked around the stacks of art supplies and book shelves. Nothing. Then I began to empty the closet. After removing everything, I saw the large black snake coiled in a far corner. Thankfully, she did not know about this visitor because Mary Anne is even more fearful of snakes than mice.
I left the room momentarily for a grabber-reacher tool used to pick up errant socks that somehow end up behind the dryer. With it, I caught the snake near its head for outdoor disposal. Proud of myself, I went to tell Mary Anne about my capturing success.
“It was a mouse, right?” Mary Anne asked.
“Yes, that is what it was. I removed it from the closet to the woods.”
“Thanks, Marv. I wonder how it got upstairs.”
“Probably looking for food.”
Later that day, I began to feel bad about having lied. We are honest with each other. I thought that here is where trust bends. So later that day, I fessed up.
“Hey, Mary Anne,” I exclaimed. “Remember that mouse in the closet? Well, it was a black snake. But I took it into the woods.”
Mary Anne looked at me with her eyes getting larger, with a look of astonishment that quickly turned into fear.
“You should have stuck with the mouse story.”
