The Great White Lie

I’m not asking you. I’m begging you. Please, oh great government of the USA. Please. Tell me lies. Tell me sweet little lies. Even though we’re better apart, let’s give it a try – tell me lies (tell me, tell me lies…)

The basis for any relationship is trust, and while I’m not going to pretend that I had any kind of faith in the American government, I thought we had some kind of understanding. Much like a philandering husband, we had an agreement. I looked the other way while you had your affairs, and in return you offered a version of stability. But now, I’ve discovered you weren’t just a cheat, you were involved in some crazy sex scandal that involved everyone from the neighbor’s dog to the next-door dwarf. And the worst part is that you destroyed MY expensive lingerie in the process, and now you want ME to foot the bill and replace it. 

 

The sex dungeon imagery may be a little bit farfetched, but there is no denying that we need trust and a feeling of security for a healthy relationship with our respective government. I know many people who have stable jobs that pay well, but who aren’t spending money right now. Why? Because the way things are going, they’re not convinced the government will be there for them in 6 months. We need to regain our trust and fast, and I propose to do this in the quickest, swiftest way possible. Lie. Not a blatant Madoffian lie, a simple little white lie will do just fine. Pretend I asked if my jeans make my butt look big. Make believe you love that fruitcake I gave you. Do that face you do when you say “Nooooo officer, was I really going that fast???” Tell me it’s going to be okay. That’s all I want to hear. Just say that in a few months it will all be back to normal. Look me in the eyes and tell me that was turbulence, not a wing that fell off the plane. I need to know that we’re all going to make it safe and sound. The Dow plummets when Bernanke or Paulson speak? Then shut ‘em up. We don’t need to hear that. No one likes the bearer of bad news. You’re unpopular enough as it is, can’t you just pretend we’re internet dating? How will I ever find out you’re 5’8 instead of 5’11? And by the time we meet I’ll be so smitten with your sense of humour I guarantee I won’t even notice those few inches. 

 

It’s not that I’m an advocate for dishonesty – not in the least buuuuuuut… If some exaggeration will make me feel better, I’ll take it. I need a hug and if it comes under the form of a white lie, well then, yes, that dress is flattering on you and you don’t look a day over 20. 

 

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