Lies, Damn Lies, and the Stuff the Cheney White House Comes Up With
Mama Dog read last night’s post, turned around, and said, “It’s hard to check out a woman’s rack when she’s wearing a Bjorn.” There you have it. I was once able to fudge enough details to surprise her with a surprise birthday party she’d asked for, but the minute baby accessories enter the story, she’s Columbo. Or maybe Encyclopedia Brown would be more relevant to this instance. Anyway, into whichever cunning detective she had suddenly morphed, she had caught me in what was once referred to by no less an authority on the art of dissembling than Daffy Duck as “an inmitigated frabrication.” That is, I bent the truth a wee tad for the sake of the story.
So, to come clean: there was a hitherto unmentioned father accompanying the attractive young mother, and he was the one wearing the Bjorn. I struck him out as an inessential detail and a bit of wind resistance in an otherwise streamlined narrative. Moreover, I don’t actually remember what the mother looked like – whether she really was a young mother or whether she really was attractive or even – brace yourselves – anything at all about her rack. I made her young and attractive and rackeriffic for the sake of irony. Oh, the shame. If this were a reputable media outlet I’d probably have to resign now. Lucky for us all it’s just a dumb blog.
So, to come clean: there was a hitherto unmentioned father accompanying the attractive young mother, and he was the one wearing the Bjorn. I struck him out as an inessential detail and a bit of wind resistance in an otherwise streamlined narrative. Moreover, I don’t actually remember what the mother looked like – whether she really was a young mother or whether she really was attractive or even – brace yourselves – anything at all about her rack. I made her young and attractive and rackeriffic for the sake of irony. Oh, the shame. If this were a reputable media outlet I’d probably have to resign now. Lucky for us all it’s just a dumb blog.
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 11:50 AM
1 Comments:
All writers know: you don't let FACTS get in the way of a good story.
My husband used to really annoy me by correcting my dinner party stories. I'd be saying, "Well, we got into this restaurant and it was really, really dark..." and he'd interrupt and say, "Well, it wasn't THAT dark..." and I'd glare at him and continue and say, "And the place was packed with about 200 people..." and he'd interrupt and say, "No, darl, there wouldn't have been more than 50..." I once told him off about it so sternly that he's never done it again. Phew.
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