Lying and Rod Stewart. That Bastard!

I try not to lie.  I really do.  I had a terrible experience with lying when I was in seventh or eighth grade.  I can’t remember which but I told a ginormous lie and learned my lesson.  At least until a few years later when I lied again and got caught and really learned my lesson.  For good.  Until that time I had an affair.  But that’s a different story because it has sex in it and, oh, wait, so does lie number two.  Anywhoooo, those will have to wait.  Here’s the thing.  As a parent I really hope my kid doesn’t lie to me too much.  I know she will, I just hope I see through most of them.  My parents were shockingly trusting as far as I’m concerned which is why I totally blame them for most of the fallout from all my lies.  If they had nipped those lies in the bud things wouldn’t have gotten so messy.  Actually it was all Rod Stewart’s fault.

See, my best friend’s dad lived in New York City.  Let me say that again.  NEW YORK CITY!!!!!!!!  I grew up in a town so small we got our second stoplight only a few years back.  It was a lovely place to grow up but not only was it small, we were poor.  So when my friend told me I could go with her to New York I freaked out.  My parents freaked out, too.  They hadn’t been to New York City.  They may have been when they were younger...I can’t remember...the thing is we all saw it as a glamourous place filled with gorgeous celebrities and sparkly things.  My parents saved up so I could have a hundred dollars to take with me to spend.  I knew exactly where I wanted to spend it, too - at Saks Fifth Avenue.  A few years earlier one of my rich relatives sent my mom a garbage bag filled with hand me down clothes all for me.  My mother FREAKED out about one item.  It was a plaid blazer.  The ugliest thing I had ever seen.  She held it up to the light and exclaimed, “OH. MY. GOD.  This is BEAUTIFUL!!!”  To which I replied, “Gross.  GROSS.  No way.  I’ll get beat up.”  She goes, “But it’s from Saks!!!!!!!”  She went on to fill me in about how Saks was the best store in the world and that it was where only rich people were allowed to shop.  They didn’t even let in poor people. Ever.

When I got to NY I asked to go to Saks immediately.  I tried to find something I could buy for ten bucks.  I had already spent all my money at the damn airport buying fashion magazines written in French so I would look cool carrying them around.  I couldn’t even find a pair of socks I could afford.  I asked for a bag so I could show it to my mom but was denied.  Bummed, I headed home with nothing from Saks, and not having seen anyone famous in spite of the fact that my parents and I had been convinced the city would be teeming with them.

Once off the plane and back home I was attacked by my parents.
 “Oh my GOD!  Was it awesome?  Who did you see????”
“Um, what?  I went to Saks!”
“Who did you see that was FAMOUS!!??”
This is where it happened.  The big lie.  I suddenly felt like all that money they had saved so I could go to NYC was wasted.  I hadn’t seen anyone.  I had failed.  I couldn’t let them down though so I just blurted out the least famous person I could think of, “Rod Stewart.  I saw him.  I mean I met him.  In a restaurant.”
I figured that would be it.  He was just some old dude I had seen on MTV Classics or something.
“OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!  OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!  ROD STEWART!!!!!!!  I LOVE HIM!!!!!!  OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”  That was my mother freaking out.  FREAKING OUT.

Rambling to my parents I explained that yes, I did get his autograph but that it had been on a napkin that I had then used by accident and thrown away because it was covered in sauce.  Then they let me go to bed.  While I slept they literally called everyone they knew and told them that I had met Rod Stewart and eaten spaghetti with him in NYC.  Then they told my best friend’s dad who called me up because he wanted to hear all about it.  This created a problem for me.

You see, he’s Catholic.  Having grown up not going to church of any kind, I thought of Catholics kind of like I thought of God.  I truly believed that if I lied to a Catholic I would go straight to hell.  So I caved and burst into tears and told him it was all a lie.  He suggested I better fess up and soon as there might still be one or two people my parents hadn’t called yet.  I hung up and sat on the top stair thinking about what to do.  Five minutes later I heard my dad from downstairs, “Get down here!  Hurry up!  Louie from Florida’s on the phone!  I want you to tell him about you and Rod!!  He doesn’t believe me, the asshole.  Hurry up!  It’s long distance!!!!”

If you have read any of my other posts you know my dad isn’t very calm about anything.  ANYTHING.  So, trying not to wet my pants, I called back, rather quietly, “I can’t.  I lied.”
“What???  I can’t hear you!!  Hurry up and get your ass down here!!!!!  It’s LONG DISTANCE!!!!!”
“I CAN’T DAD.  I LIED.”
“What????  WHAT???!!!!   Louie.  I’ll call you back.  Goddamn it!!!!”

I survived the conversation but barely survived the aftermath which involved me calling everyone my parents had told and telling each person it was all a big fat lie.  I still hate Rod Stewart for putting me through all that.  I love telling my daughter that story as a sort of veiled threat.  She always says the same thing, “Wait, who the heck is Rod Stewart?”