Artful Dodges

Dear you,

George Santos is no longer Congressman George Santos.  Today, he was officially expelled from Congress. Unprecedented action suited to these unprecedented-everything times.  Poor boy George, taking the American mythology of self-creation too far.  Such an obvious liar, caught in that old tangled web. I suppose we all lie, perhaps not on the Santos-Trump scale, but on the "lighter side" of deception, perhaps we just need to dodge something. The dodge lie is probably pretty common.  Most of us have made stuff up to avoid a dreaded encounter or consequence.  I recall these little dodges of my own:

In the eighties during my fabulous Manhattan days, I remember telling a "beau" I couldn't meet him for a date because I had to unpack my trunk. (What was I thinking and why did I choose a trunk when clearly I had not been traveling on a luxury ocean liner.)

Also in those heady eighties, I told a real beau that my relationship with another cast-member on the road in Best Little whorehouse in Texas was nothing to worry about since the guy was gay.  (As it turns out, the guy was gay.  And as justice would have it, the real beau dumped me.)

During a teaching gig in St. Pete., Florida, I told a particularly deplorable student that I couldn't meet him during office hours because I didn't have to have office hours due to my "special status".  (Of course he ratted me out.  I don't care; it was worth it.)

In a recent conversation with a neighbor, I told her I went to the doctor for a checkup every year. Truth is, I never go to the doctor unless something breaks or explodes. (I said this because the neighbor is actually a sweet soul, rare in this zone, and I didn't want her to worry about me.)

And almost every day in condo-world, I avoid "exciting" the schadenfreude types by never describing my real situation.  I might have a toothache, be aggravated by my maniac cat, annoyed by the idiots at the grocery store, or freaked out about the jury summons I just received, but they will never get to enjoy my pain.  My consistent reply to their creepy "How ARE you(s)?" is consistently this:  "I am absolutely fabulous, always."

Well, no true harm done in any case, right?  Maybe lying is just part of being human, part of our efforts to protect ourselves, create ourselves.  But consider this from Andre Malraux, "Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides."

And with that being said, I must now sign off.  I have to unpack my trunk. God only knows what I have hidden in there.

Love,

Joyce