I pride myself on my journalistic integrity, which is interesting because I've never taken a journalism class in my life and I (admittedly) on occasion tend to … ahem … enhance the truth to suit my needs. Sometimes enhancing the truth means omitting stuff altogether, particularly the parts of a story in which I come off looking really bad.
Take last night's conversation for example. Evidently, I took some liberties with the 'cleaning out the basement' episode on my blog.
Husband: I read yesterday's blog post about the basement.
Me: Really?
Husband: Yep. It was pretty good, but you made some omissions.
Me: Omissions? Really? I thought I pretty much covered everything.
Husband: You neglected to write about how you flopped on the couch after lunch and refused to go back to the basement until all the work was done, including hanging drywall, laying carpet, and arranging furniture.
Me: Hmm … I don't remember that happening.
Husband: Also, there was no mention of you clutching the couch cushion for dear life when I tried to drag you off of it to finish helping.
Me: You know, you really shouldn't go around dragging people off of furniture. It's rude. Besides, you totally interrupted my much needed nap.
Husband: Much needed nap? What?! We had only been downstairs working for an hour.
Me: True. But I was doing mental as well as physical work. And everybody knows that it's the mental stuff that wears a body out.
Husband: What mental work? It was all physical labor, if you can call pushing a couch twenty feet physical labor.
Me: Well, you didn't see me cross both arms and blink really hard while nodding my head a la Jeanie from 'I Dream of Jeanie'. I was trying to get the whole job done in less than a second. A nanosecond really. That's total mental work.
Husband: Oh, it's mental all right.
Me: And I did a lot of trying to move stuff using only the power of my mind. Total telekinesis, baby.
Husband: And how did that go?
Me: Not well. I need to work on harnessing my mental powers. That's what I was doing on the couch - harnessing my mental powers. It just looks like napping to the untrained eye.
Husband: You know I'm not buying this, right?
Me: Sigh. I know. It would make my life so much easier if you did.
Husband: And you already admitted to napping.
Me: It would make my life so much easier if you weren't so danged logical.
To recap: I did not enjoy cleaning out the basement and I made several attempts to avoid having to do actual work, including having a death grip on the couch cushions, channeling Barbara Eden, and telekinesis. Nothing worked. The basement got cleaned out and now, even though I come off looking pathetic, you all know the whole story. My journalistic integrity is still completely intact.
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