Jimmy Cricket must have been busy perusing the job ads when you waltzed into the candy store. Mom was busy pushing the cart toward the checkout. The smell of the peppermint dancing in your lungs. Price of the peppermint was 20 cents. Jingle, jingle in her little coin purse. Only 5 cents. While mom was distracted, you put the peppermint in your fuzzy pocket and run out of the store.
As you leave the store mom notices you have the candy. Busted! Tear
streaked faced as mom drags you kicking and screaming back into the
store to apologize. Then the guilt is poured on like molasses.
Maybe it is bitterness or seasoned experience that causes me to
doubt any story that is presented to me. My cynical side has witnessed
I remember when I was younger my sister was running around in the
living room in a pink jacket. My dad was trying to take a nap and was
annoyed. Half groggy he seen a pink flash. My sister knowing of the
impending spanking threw the pink coat on my little brother. Dad, full
of anger took my brother and whooped him hard. It didn’t pay off for her
as soon as dad realized what really happened she was punished.
This past week has been filled with dishonesty in all shapes and
forms. From the call I received asking for the model number on the
office fax machine to the man wondering around pretending he ‘ran out of
gas’ and needed money. To family members that burn each other
continuously. Sadly, even my husband has been caught in a string of
whoppers. Maybe I’m too nice to confront the liars, terrified of some
retaliation or afraid of the awful truth.
Who am I to complain? I go into the 10 items or less lane with 20
items. I tell my professor my homework was left at home, knowing full
well it wasn’t done. When I worked as a cashier I called in sick but I
really was hung over.
The lies or truth have a way of biting us in the butt. A few months
ago I took my kids to Old Country Buffet. I told the cashier they kids
were younger to get a discount. My kids decided to point out the lie and
yell “That’s not my age!” I felt exposed and humiliated. Ashamed of
myself that I would ask my kids to be dishonest.
The world would be a better place if everyone had Pinocchio
syndrome. Or at least a green BFF in a top hat with the battle cry “let
your conscience be your guide.”
If only the people around the world would feel guilty like that day
in the candy store. Is that temporary sweet reward really worth the