In order to hide his bad grades, an 11 year old boy claimed he lost his report card while escaping from kidnappers. He made a couple of key errors, however. For example, though kidnappers allegedly took his bookbag, the kid was somehow able to hang onto his tuba case (or whatever band instrument he played).
Still, that whopper took guts. I told lots of lies as a child, lots and lots of lies, but never anything that would involve the police.
Remember when you first learned you could actually alter reality? All it took was a simple, “No, I didn’t,” or “That’s not mine.” The early lies were probably the most believable; it was the evolution into storytelling that caused the problems. The elaboration – scene setting, character development, plot, climax, denoument. And then trying to remember it all when called back to testify before another parental unit.
Perhaps my most successful lie involved some mime and one prop. About the only way we could stay home from grammar school was to suffer a near-death experience. So I whipped me up a jar of fake vomit, and this I hid in my room for special occasions. Can’t remember what went into it, though I know an egg was involved. Early on the mornings in question, I’d shake this baby up into a frothy gaseous cloud, then go running to the bathroom closest to my parent’s bedroom.
“Bwaaaaack!” I’d wretch, and pour some liquid into the toilet. A few more bwaaaack’s followed by a couple of coughs, and I had a day in bed, drinking ginger ale, sketching, and watching Dick Van Dyke reruns.
One time I forgot to hide the jar and my mom happened upon the mystery mixture. All I had to do was fall back on an old reliable. "I don't know, it's not mine."
"Simplify, simplify, simplify." Timeless advice, really.