Blog: To Tell The Truth

Written on 05 January 2012.

I can’t lie. It’s an odd compulsion that I’ve had all my life. When confronted with an opportunity to lie—or where a lie might be appropriate, such as when asked “Do you this new shade of lipstick?” by someone who looks like they landed lips first in a puddle of mud—I freeze like a deer in headlights. I know the truth would be a terrible thing to say and yet I can’t force an untruth past my lips. And so I just freeze. My sister recently tried to entice me in a game of “Cockroach Poker” (Kakerlakenpoker), in which lying is a key ingredient to the game. My first attempt at this game became the stuff of family legends: I became so flustered by trying to lie that I finally had to just ran out of the room to end my turn (my family found this all much more entertaining than the actual game). In my more fanciful moments, I imagine I was cursed in my infancy by an evil fairy, like Sleeping Beauty or Ella of Ella Enchanted. Modern science, on the other hands, posits that I might have a mild form of Asperger’s Syndrome or a deficiency in my “theory of mind.”

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