The cheque is in the mail

I bumped into an acquaintance today while I was out doing my errands. After the customary greetings, we did some catching up and exchanged notes on our career path. As I listened to her chatting on about her glamorous and exciting life, I willed myself to see her nose growing longer by the minute. Now don’t get me wrong. I was not green with envy, even though her tales might have put Paris Hilton to shame. The truth is I happened to have met her mother about a week earlier who had already given me the low down on her daughter’s exploits and it certainly was a far cry from what she was telling me now. Of course, I did not want to spoil her fun and so let her ramble on and sent her off on her merry way.
Well, I have to admit that I too have on occasion spun a rather interesting yarn or two. Maybe its human nature and we can’t deny the fact that we all like to tell what I shall euphemistically call tales. Some of them may be molehills but the majority of them, I have noticed, are of Himalayan dimensions. You know all the lies fishermen tell about their big catch. Well, we drop equally fictitious references to our personal, social and professional ‘big catches’, virtually all the time.
If you don’t believe me, do some serious eavesdropping the next time you’re at a party, a wedding and yes, even at a funeral. You’d probably hear someone bragging about her last vacation at some exotic island where she was accosted by a tall, dark and handsome stranger. Chances are, she probably went to Port Dickson, where a 60 something male tourist with a protruding belly and thinning hair kept on winking at her.
Then we have the name droppers who claim that they are cousins to some celebrities, ministers, members of royalty or someone rich and famous, while carefully omitting to reveal how many times removed the connection is.
At times, some women love to brag about their husband’s/son’s/son in law’s ascension up the corporate ladder at a speed that would put NASA outputs to shame. Their children seem to be geniuses; they are likely to enter University by the age of 12. Their routine dinner guest list reads from a socialite magazine’s who and who.
At other times, the lie is a cover-up, a façade behind which a person hides his/her vulnerabilities. “Of course I got an invite to the party, but I was away in Greece at that time.” But in the same breath this person vows never to speak to the hostess of that party for some time.
Then, we have the compulsive liars. They lie as easily as they breathe. In fact, if they cannot embellish a simple story, it isn’t worth telling. They do it for effect, they do it for laughs, they do it for sympathy, but they do it all the time.
They are the ones who turned down a marriage proposal from a foreign millionaire because they couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Malaysia. They are the ones who got picked up by the contestants of the Miss World Beauty Pageant during a night out in town. They are the ones who have had several near death experiences that they are a walking miracle.
But is it true that women tend to tolerate tall tales more than men do? A guy told me that he once heard the biggest whopper of all from a demure lass and what amazed him was that while all the guys were turning red and squirming, none of the ladies so much as batted an eye lash. Even as the men got hot under the collar or stared in stupefaction (well, so would you if someone you’ve known for years suddenly told you that she once dated an international footballer, only she doesn’t remember his name, which team he belonged to or which year it was [ it was soooo long ago!], the women only smile.
Maybe it’s a Cheshire cat smile. A smile that says, “I’m onto you, so stop right now.” Maybe it’s a smile that says, “That was a good one. I need to work on my stories.” Then again it could be a smile that says, “OK, you’ve had your moment. Now it’s my turn, and boy, do I have a big one!”