THE IMPULSE TO LIE TO STRANGERS ABOUT THE NATURE OF OUR RELATIONSHIP

You're my wife, tutor, mentally handicapped client who I'm paid big bucks to care for and sometimes you're even my sister. These characters come into my head and out of my mouth like mischievous kids jumping the queue at a waterslide park. I open my mouth and they plop out of the tube. My accountant over there will have a latte.

You keep metaphors straight. You remind me to
anchor myself on the solid rock of reality. You are there for me, even as I royally piss you off. You show a great deal of love.

"My pregnant wife will have another double," I smile with sincerity at the waitress. "We still haven't decided on whether were keeping it so..." I present this information to her with a very serious face and my voice trails off as though I've suddenly found myself in the midst of contemplating our unborn's fate.

You kick me under the table with the pointy tip of your shoe which alerts the world to my lie. The waitress figures that she's being fibbed to and her personality disappears behind a door of indifference that's slammed in our faces. There's no point in knocking again at that door.

You don't indulge in metaphors. You keep things literal. Literally literal.

"That very cruel. Don't lie like that. I don't think that's very funny. That's too harsh."

You're my wife, tutor, parole officer and the victim of my jokes but you're not for me. There's a sweetness to you but I will be single again soon. I will be lost in a cyclone funneled garbage dump of ideas that will spin me around and around.