TMI Thursday: Liar, Liar

Seriously, it has just been one of those days. I want to regale you with something witty and whatnot, but I just don't have the energy today, so don't expect anything too earth shaking.

Here goes:

When I was in the fourth grade, I had a friend named Tina. Tina told me she was a model, and that she had a boyfriend who was in college and that he was also her photographer.

I told her that I was a model, and that I also had a boyfriend who was in college and was my photographer.

I thought she was lying, I thought she knew I was lying. I thought she knew that I thought she was lying. (Et cetera. I told you this post was going to be uber stupid.)

So, Tina and I would talk on the phone after school pretty much every single day, and one day I told her that Trevor (oh, that was my fake boyfriends fake name) was at my house and that she could talk to him if she wanted. She wanted to, so I was all, "Hang on, he's in the other room, let me get him."

Then I disguised my voice and and had a full conversation with Tina as a boy who didn't even exist.

After Trevor "left my house" that evening, I called Tina back to chat some more. We talked about how much we loved our (pedophile) boyfriends, and what we wanted to do to confess our undying devotion to them. We decided that tattoos would be appropriate, and she said the boys should take us to get them together. Now, since Trevor was fictional, I knew that I was going to have to come up with a plan so that Tina wouldn't discover the truth, since it was starting to seem that she thought this whole charade was serious.

The next morning before school, I rummaged through the junk drawer and found a blue marker. I wrote I LOVE TREVOR in capital letters on the bottom of my foot.. I was just going to tell Tina that I went ahead and got the tattoo without her, and I would show her the evidence on the sole of my bare foot, which was where all the hard core eight year olds got tattoos, of course.

That night, after my evening bath (I took a bath at night, because I was an eight year old little kid, remember?) I was in my pajamas eating ice cream in the living room when my parents noticed my artwork.

"What's on the bottom of your foot?" my dad wanted to know.
"Nothing."
"No, seriously. There's something blue on your foot. Let me see."
"No."
"Did you write something on your foot?" My father was understandably confused.
"No, I think that it might be..." Yeah, I had nothing. I couldn't even come up with a plausible lie. I just knew that there was no way I was admitting to this. There would be explaining to do, explanations about who Trevor was and uh, was not. It was really just far too embarrassing. "Actually, I don't know what it is. I have no idea."
"So, you're saying that you did not write something on your foot, and that you have no idea what it is that is on your foot at this present time."
"That's what I am saying."

My dad wasn't mad that I had blue marker on my foot. It was the lying about it that got me into trouble. He told me I had three choices. I could admit what I had done, go get a belt out of his closet, or be grounded for some certain number of days.

I chose the belt. I went into his closet and grabbed one.

When I came back, he gave me a pitiful look, shook his head, and told me to go to my room. I had chosen the thickest leather belt in his closet. I didn't realize it would have hurt the most, because I had never been spanked.

To this day, my father has never spanked me, but still loves to bring up the time I lied, just because I gave myself a fake tattoo about a fake boyfriend and was too chicken to come clean about it.