Okay...did ya ever tell a really big lie, not a malicious lie, just a story you made up to be funny or dramatic...a lie you fully intended to reveal as soon as the drama played itself out and the timing was to your most comedic advantage... but right as you were about to say "Nah!" or "Gotcha!" or "As if!" something happens -- a phone call, a doorbell, a helpful wag inserts a non-sequiturial remark -- and before you know it the whole conversation spins off into another direction, a whole new 'thing' evolves, and in a flash the "As if!" moment is irreversibly behind you leaving your "Gotcha!" to hang there in a screwed up purgatorial state in your mouth, and then you panic when you realize that since you didn't get to "Gotcha!" the person your STUPID JOKE was transformed into a BIG FAT LIE you will inevitably have to explain when it resurfaces ever-so inopportunely at a point in the future, like at a party ("Yes, we've met, aren't you that girl who has seven toes?"), or job interview ("A triple doctorate! Impressive!") , or blind date ("So Chris tells me you used to go out with Kevin Bacon")...
Well, just for the record:
I do not, nor have ever had seven toes.
Triple doctorate? I drove by a college once.
I've never slept with, or even laid eyes on Kevin Bacon.
I am younger than I said I was.
Those friends I told you about do not host a web-cam sex-site to raise money for anti-pornography lobbyists.
I was never the charismatic leader of a cult who worshipped cheese.
I am older than I said I was.
I was never in a breast-expunging incident while hang-gliding, I'm just flat-chested.
I am not related to Steve McQueen.
I don't even know where the freaking Matterhorn is.
Although not out of the realm of possibility, Mother did not sell Elvis that bad batch of uppers that landed him face-down in the hopper.
I actually got that scar from dropping a roller skate on my face.
I was not asked to replace Jam Master J by Run DMC.
I wasn't really "just in the neighborhood".