I know some people have juicy secrets, but mine are more like pulp or a dry wine—an acquired taste. I try my best to be an open book because, well, I like books. Seriously though, my honesty isn’t always appreciated. But that’s fine because I don’t always appreciate other people’s dishonesty either. And don’t get me started on white lies—those are like gateway lies. Before you know it, you’re dealing with black lies, chartreuse lies, elephant’s breath lies, and even drunk-tank pink lies.
First off, a black lie is like a white lie’s evil twin. It’s when you’re lying to deliberately hurt someone’s feelings. So, what the Dickens is a chartreuse lie? Well, it sounds like something out of a Charles Dickens novel, but it’s actually when you say, “Sure, truce,” and then sneak in a win. Very sneaky.
Now, addressing the elephant in the room—or should I say, dressing the elephant: What exactly is an elephant’s breath lie? Well, “elephant’s breath” is an actual color, named by dressmakers in the 19th century. So, an elephant’s breath lie is when a dressmaker says you look good in a dress but mutters under their breath, “For an elephant.”
And a drunk-tank pink lie? That’s what happens when you’ve sampled one too many dry wines, made a fool of yourself like some character out of a Dickens novel, and ended up in the drunk tank at the police department. The next day, you tell everyone you only had one drink, and they’re all tickled pink.
A while back, I worked in the paint department of a home improvement store. One day, an elderly lady asked if we had cardinal red paint for her birdhouse. I told her we didn’t have anything specifically named that but showed her a paint that perfectly matched the color. I even held up a picture of a cardinal to compare. She wasn’t convinced and kept arguing that it wasn’t called “cardinal red.” Eventually, in frustration, she decided to go to Hobby Lobby instead. She was so angry; it wouldn’t have surprised me if she got into it with her husband later when she went home. I bet if he gave her any lip, he ended up sleeping in said birdhouse, whether it ended up painted cardinal red or not. Looking back, maybe I should have just told a cardinal red lie and changed the label. It could have been my little pulpy secret.
