(even with a pencil for a nose I look better than I do now. W.T.F.????)
The lies I tell every day....
The lies I tell every day....
I need some head lice medication and a nit comb for the kids please. (To the smirking pharmacist)
I don’t think I ever actually received that email. (To anyone at all really)
No. I haven’t been cutting my own hair. (To disbelieving hairdresser)
I love it! (When the chary bitch cuts it way too short.)
I already have one. (In a French accent to hawkers in shopping centres)
Sorry, I don’t have any cash on me. (To 18 year old son Padraic when he asks for money again)
About twenty minutes. (To my ravenous teenagers when they ask how long until I get off my laptop and cook dinner.)
No more than 3 standard drinks a day (To disapproving doctor)
That’s okay. (To flippant doctor who says, “This might hurt a bit” during a smear test.)
The toilet stunk before I got here. (To overpowered colleagues at work.)
Swearing is not very nice. You never hear Mrs Poinker swearing do you? Of course not… because Mrs Poinker doesn’t swear! (To trusting ten year old students)
We don’t water our lawn to save water, not because we’re lazy. (To our sceptical friends and neighbours)
Clytemnestra! That’s an unusual name. I like it. Does she get Clit for short? (To a new doting parent.)
Good thanks! (My reply when the jaded, monotonal checkout chick asks me how my day was.)
That sounds great! (My reply to the friend I’ve run into who has just said, “Let’s get together for lunch” when I know we will never get around to it because we’ve been saying it for the last ten years.)
Neither do you! (My reply to some ancient friend I haven’t seen for ten years who tells me I don’t look any older since the last time they saw me.)
I heard every word you said. (When a tetchy Scotto accuses me of not listening to his enthralling description of how he reconfigured the home network using a wireless signal booster.)
I’ll pay you back. (To my teacher buddy Rachel, when I ‘borrow’ staples and sticky dots.)
That’s okay. (To the mother who apologises to me when her little sh#t of a brat rams a shopping trolley into my Achilles tendon.)
That’s okay. (To the person who mockingly shrugs at me when they have a full trolley at the 12 items or under check out.)
That’s okay. (To the dedicated checkout chick who decides she needs to count the money in her till when I finally make it to the counter.)
That’s okay. (When the blameless person in front of me has a third item that won’t scan and the checkout chick has to call someone over the P.A. to find the correct price… again.)
I’ll see you in six months then! (To the well-groomed receptionist after spending 30 agonising minutes in the dentist’s chair.)
I haven’t seen it. (To an agitated Scotto when I realise I’ve accidentally thrown out his 50 metre network cable because I thought it was old wiring rubbish.)
Sorry, I’m really busy that day. (When anyone invites me to a Tupperware/Little Kid’s party)
I’m really sorry about the mess. The house is usually much cleaner. (To every disgusted visitor we have.)
The hardest part is getting started. (Me trying to cajole an unwilling Padraic into commencing work on his English Shakespearean assignment.)
Boys don’t like girls who wear really short shorts. (To Lulu when she’s leaving the house dressed in a transparent handkerchief.)
I don’t think I ever actually received that email. (To anyone at all really)
No. I haven’t been cutting my own hair. (To disbelieving hairdresser)
I love it! (When the chary bitch cuts it way too short.)
I already have one. (In a French accent to hawkers in shopping centres)
Sorry, I don’t have any cash on me. (To 18 year old son Padraic when he asks for money again)
About twenty minutes. (To my ravenous teenagers when they ask how long until I get off my laptop and cook dinner.)
No more than 3 standard drinks a day (To disapproving doctor)
That’s okay. (To flippant doctor who says, “This might hurt a bit” during a smear test.)
The toilet stunk before I got here. (To overpowered colleagues at work.)
Swearing is not very nice. You never hear Mrs Poinker swearing do you? Of course not… because Mrs Poinker doesn’t swear! (To trusting ten year old students)
We don’t water our lawn to save water, not because we’re lazy. (To our sceptical friends and neighbours)
Clytemnestra! That’s an unusual name. I like it. Does she get Clit for short? (To a new doting parent.)
Good thanks! (My reply when the jaded, monotonal checkout chick asks me how my day was.)
That sounds great! (My reply to the friend I’ve run into who has just said, “Let’s get together for lunch” when I know we will never get around to it because we’ve been saying it for the last ten years.)
Neither do you! (My reply to some ancient friend I haven’t seen for ten years who tells me I don’t look any older since the last time they saw me.)
I heard every word you said. (When a tetchy Scotto accuses me of not listening to his enthralling description of how he reconfigured the home network using a wireless signal booster.)
I’ll pay you back. (To my teacher buddy Rachel, when I ‘borrow’ staples and sticky dots.)
That’s okay. (To the mother who apologises to me when her little sh#t of a brat rams a shopping trolley into my Achilles tendon.)
That’s okay. (To the person who mockingly shrugs at me when they have a full trolley at the 12 items or under check out.)
That’s okay. (To the dedicated checkout chick who decides she needs to count the money in her till when I finally make it to the counter.)
That’s okay. (When the blameless person in front of me has a third item that won’t scan and the checkout chick has to call someone over the P.A. to find the correct price… again.)
I’ll see you in six months then! (To the well-groomed receptionist after spending 30 agonising minutes in the dentist’s chair.)
I haven’t seen it. (To an agitated Scotto when I realise I’ve accidentally thrown out his 50 metre network cable because I thought it was old wiring rubbish.)
Sorry, I’m really busy that day. (When anyone invites me to a Tupperware/Little Kid’s party)
I’m really sorry about the mess. The house is usually much cleaner. (To every disgusted visitor we have.)
The hardest part is getting started. (Me trying to cajole an unwilling Padraic into commencing work on his English Shakespearean assignment.)
Boys don’t like girls who wear really short shorts. (To Lulu when she’s leaving the house dressed in a transparent handkerchief.)
I.Hate.Shopping.
Do any of the above sound familiar to you? If not… what lies do you tell?
Do any of the above sound familiar to you? If not… what lies do you tell?
