Liar, Liar: Pants on Fire

Part two of Liar, Liar: A Necessary Humilation. Liar, Liar is a short story told in two parts about the dangers of not knowing when to keep your mouth shut and bowing to social pressures.

Picking up where we left off …

That night I went home conflicted. Obviously there was something deeply wrong with me that I needed the approval of these women so much. Wasn’t I happy? Wasn’t Jonathan worth the wait? I was not a liar, so why was I letting myself become one?

But I was no longer myself, my brain constantly swirling and planning and discontent, and though I spent the weekend rehashing my original cover story about Jonathan holding the ring for a friend I threw all sense out of the window as soon as I arrived at work.

During our coffee break that Monday I told the girls about The Proposal. I even managed a tear glistening in my eye as I recited Jonathan’s speech which was both moving and humorous, very Jonathan. When they asked to see the ring I said it was getting sized as Jonathan hadn’t thought to check it against one of my actual rings. (Something I know would actually happen if the proposal wasn’t fake. He had never been one for details.) They wondered why I hadn’t taken any pictures of the ring and I briefly thought my shtick was up (what a ridiculous way to describe my temporary insanity) but they didn’t suspect a thing.

The next two weeks went by in a blur. As word spread around the office I received more congratulatory emails than I could count (mostly from people whose faces I couldn’t even picture). A few bridal magazines were anonymously dropped off at my desk and the girls even treated me for coffee the next few days, making cheeky comments about how I needed to start saving for the Big Day. At the end of the week we had a Girls’ Night celebration that turned into an impromptu and early Bridal Shower with cocktails instead of gifts.

Everything was spiralling out of control but rather than trepidation all I felt was unbridled (ha!) joy.

The happiness my new reality caused was infectious and addictive. The lie was thrilling in the way that duplicity always is, naughty and risqué being the words I chose to describe my situation as opposed to the more appropriate words sociopathic and delusional.

I was being accepted, initiated into the ranks of happily committed women. The fact that Jonathan appeared to choke on air every time I mentioned marriage seemed moot, a reality that I shoved to the side as I obsessively searched Pinterest for wedding ideas.

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