So the kid has been fibbing...nothing major but easily caught out little white lies. Of course dipshit is in a huff over it, but I know it's a stage and she is SO bad at it. But damn if she did not look me straight in the eye and lie to my face. Which brings back memories of how I used to do the same thing to my parents. And my mother told me this morning that I was a shitty liar! WHAT? I was a great liar....all those times we said we were going to the movies and we drove around the beach all night looking for boys. All the times I said "no I didn't smoke, it was Dana"....c'mon. No way she caught onto that. All the times I said I was sleeping over Nancy's house and we ended up God knows where at a party - (except for that time with the guy with one hand, but that's another story)....she never guessed. She was always asleep when I got home...
Mothers always know...dammit.
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My mum didn't know about me being bitten by the gypsey pony till us adult daughters were laughinh about how I managed to keep the festering green wound secret.
Does that make me happy or sad? Whatever it's given me plenty to say to my therapsit.
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