Monday, 9 September 2013

telling lies

I am procrastinating about today's topic.  My Dad warned me a while ago, that I shouldn't share too much on the blog.  Well, what's too much, really?  I share more than some, and less than others, but generally only what I'm comfortable with.  However, today I'm pushing that boundary a wee bit.  I'm carrying on, working my way through Fat Mum Slim's suggestions of 50 topics to blog aboutThe ones I've already done are down at the bottom if you're interested.  Chantelle didn't suggest them as a must-do list, it's me that's chosen to take them that way, so I've been thinking long and hard about the fifth topic, which is:

That one time you told a huge lie and kinda got away with it {or perhaps you didn’t and that would make an even better blog post! Cringe}

Cringe indeed.  The question is, which lie to go for?  A doozer, which reaked untold havock?  No, those bodies are buried now.  Convincing my son that the ice-cream van only played music when it had run out of ice cream?  No, because I caved, and now am damned to have the blooming van park outside my house.  No, it's got to be something not too terrible, so you'll come back, but still pretty awful...  I've got a few of those.  This is the one I chose.

Today's mug shot of teenage me,
again courtesy of my brother.
Thanks UE
When I was 16 (there's a theme with the teenage stories of late, have you noticed), we had a complicated timetable that stretched over two weeks, with seven periods in a day.  It was difficult to follow, except for one thing.  On Friday afternoons we had triple games.  Ugh.  I am not, and never have been a fan of team sports.  Don't get me wrong, exercise is healthy and very good for you, but arming teenage girls with sticks and then sending them out in the mud is just insane.

So on a Friday afternoon, I would go to my form room (it was a beautiful Victorian Physics laboratory - I loved it in there) for register, and then pop down to the lockers to collect my gym kit... and carry on walking, out of the school.

One Friday, my friend, let's call her Emma, had been invited to a party with her boyfriend and his mates from his fancy boy's school.  Some parents had gone away.  It was in a village in the Dales, but luckily, there was a bus we could catch to get there.  Emma and I left school, stopped off quickly at my house to get changed into something a little more black, and caught the bus.

When we got there we discovered it was just us, and four boys.  They boys hadn't got any booze, and we hadn't got enough fags, so the tallest one went to the offy and bought us lots of Cider and Silk Cut.  The party was on.

Helloween, back in the day.  They look cooler
now!  Pic from here
Emma and her boyfriend were enjoying some quality time in the living room, so I went up to the bedroom of the boy whose house it was (I have no idea what his name was, sorry).  The other boys were there too, and we listened to Helloween, and discussed music, gaming, and school.  I think.  

Plenty of cider was drunk, which is never a good plan when teens are involved, and when our esteemed host had fallen asleep, and I had had as much Helloween as I could stand I made my way downstairs to see how Emma was doing.

Emma was asleep on the sofa.

Her boyfriend was not.

Reader, please understand that I was 16 and full of cider, and it was his idea, but it seemed like a rather good one, and so I kissed Emma's boyfriend.  Quite a lot.

I then stole Emma's fags and went outside to smoke one.  When I was done, Emma came out and suggested we went to catch the bus home.  Great idea, I agreed, and off we set.

I was trying really hard not to say anything at all, lest I say something I shouldn't.

The Mission.  I'm off to see them in December.
Anyone else going?  Pic from here
When we were about three miles away from home Emma asked "Did you kiss my boyfriend?"  "No!"  I exclaimed.  "How could you think such a thing of me?"  "I don't even fancy him!"  "He likes the Mission!"  Here, surely, was incontrovertible evidence that nothing had happened?  "You don't want to tell me you kissed him?"  Asked Emma, calmly.  "No!" I gibbered.  "I'm genuinely shocked you could think such a thing of me, Emma.  Anyway, you were asleep."  "I was only pretending to be asleep."  said Emma.  I can't remember exactly what I said.  I think I may have collapsed into the hideous snivelling giggles of the truly guilt-laden, but I don't think I admitted the truth.  It didn't matter.  Emma knew the truth.  The worst thing was that Emma seemed to find it funny.  

She didn't stay with that boyfriend much longer, which was definitely a good thing because she ended up getting married to a rather smashing bloke (not that the boyfriend wasn't smashing - he was, but he married a rather wonderful woman too).  I stopped snogging other people's boyfriends and am married to someone pretty special too, so all good all 'round really.  But I still do feel guilty for lying about that kiss.

Sorry Emma.

What have you lied about?  Did you get away with it?  

This post is one of a series I'm doing inspired by Chantelle of Fat Mum Slim's suggestions of 50 things to blog about.  If you're interested, here's links to all the ones I've done so far.