My husband pulls the most adorable (and totally transparent) Lying Face.I can’t tell you exactly what this entails, because…well…then he would know how to stop the Lying Face and I’d never catch him lying again! Der!
Not that he’s big on fibbing. He’s the most truthful, direct person I know and that’s just one of the main reasons why I love him.
Sometimes his honesty is painful. Cringe-worthy. Not for him of course, he’s not fazed; but for me (I’m easily embarrassed, you see). He’s what you’d call a Straight Shooter. He doesn’t sugar-coat. He calls it as he sees it. His “honesty is the best policy”, um, policy, quite frankly frightens the living daylights outta me.
Like this guy, only more embarrassing.
On rare occasions though, he might just have to tell a porkie. Let’s get this straight: he only lies in the most protective, loving way, and that’s usually perfectly fine with me. When it comes to the big stuff, I can count on him, he hasn’t a deceptive or malicious bone in his body. His lies are white and his heart is pure.
But after five years of marriage he’s still amazed at my ability to catch him out. This telltale look flashes across his earnest, hopeful face and he’s done for. Game over.
It’s what the experts call a Micro Expression, and there’s a proper method to reading them. Mine’s just instinctive. Call it a fifth sense (joking, people!!!).
Our eldest son, Bean, who is now four, is so much like his dad. His statuesque height, his commanding stance, his exact features, his cheeky expressions – copy-and-paste Daddy.
Today I went into my sons’ shared bedroom to find Bean’s socks emptied out of the drawer and strewn across the floor.
I called him in and asked “What happened here?”.
He replied “I don’t know, Mummy, I didn’t do that”. And to my shock and amusement, The Lying Face appeared (albeit in a miniature form.)
(I knew he was lying anyway because he was loudly searching for his green Ben Ten socks this morning).
The Face sealed the deal. I said “Sweetie, please tell me the truth”.
“Buggy did it”. Oh yeah, blame the toddler, that old chestnut.
He wouldn’t budge and neither would The Face. But then another look replaced the first. Another look my husband has perfected and seemingly passed through the genes to Bean.
The “How the hell does she know I’m lying and how am I going to get myself out of this?” look.
I’ve got to hand it to him though, the poor little fella was putting in a superb effort.
“Pick up the socks”.
Be warned, little man. You’ve inherited the most readable, obvious Lying Face on the planet from your gorgeous father. I just hope you’ve also inherited his penchant for honesty (or maybe just a sprinkle of his charisma, which will serve to bail you out of strife every time).