Pants on Fire

There is a funny little ironic song that Christians sing to the tune of Frere Jacques or Here is Thumbkin. (if you grew up in a place that was SO uneducated that you had neither French songs, Barney, nor Silly Sing Along...it is a miracle that you can read. Congratulations on that.)

Rev-el-ation, Rev-el-ation

Twenty-one eight, Twenty-one eight.

Liars burn in hell, Liars burn in hell.

Burn, Burn, Burn.

Burn, Burn, Burn.

If you look up Revelation 21:8, it turns out that most of us will burn in hell. We just come across Liars in a light-hearted situation worthy of the song more often than, say, those who practice magic arts.

Today I spent quality time with a pathological liar. Happily, this was an easier time with her because I went into the day knowing that she lies. The first time I worked with her was confusing and draining. Here is a very short list of things I'm sure are lies from her:

1) the $$ she was saving by moving to a new place

2) the amount of stuff in her storage shed

3) what we needed to move and where

4) when and how she had a miscarriage

5) the story of a car crash (off a bridge and exploding in flames???)

6) a psychological disorder she doesn't have

7) the story of how and why she got married (a deathbed wedding- she was dying)

8) why she had to change her major/all things related to school

9) a major heart attack last week along with heart surgery.
10) a dramatic story of overcoming the court system through a public protest in the courthouse

I KNOW that she lied about the cost of her rent, reasons for moving, who she had permission from to use what trailers/trucks, who she had confirmed to help move, and all things related to today. Pathological liars are not very successful in small towns where everyone compares stories.

Is there a point to this blog other than to gossip and complain about someone? Um, not really. Gossips aren't listed in Revelation 21:8. I will say that today went fairly well for me. I prepared for days to work with a liar and went ready for the bullshit.

Some people come from families where lying was the norm and simply a flaw, like dandruff. It isn't pretty, but it is part of life. I came from a family where truth-telling was almost compulsive to the point of hurtful. Lies mess me up. When a man lies to me (in a significant way, not about my ass looking big in my jeans), the relationship is pretty much over. I try, but recovery after a big lie seems to be impossible.

Today's somewhat disabled pathological liar was okay. We are not close, so her lies are not hurtful. At least she is very pleasant and her stories are entertaining.