TouchedByMadness

Aunt Fibs

There are some people who are quite sensitive about the truth quotient of every blog post they read. As someone who is prone to embellish ever so slightly (on rare occasions), I sometimes worry about offending those people. Of course, I also believe there is a difference between taking a little literary license and flat-out hocking hooey.

A friend and I compared stories one day, each of us convinced that we knew the most outrageous liar ever. I had just explained to her how a third grade classmate’s error taught me that if you’re going to tell the teacher you didn’t do your homework because a family member died, it’s best not to choose the family member who will answer the phone when the school secretary calls.

“Wait, I’ve got one for you,” my friend interrupted.

She told me of a relative, “Aunt Fibs,” who was quite possibly the worst liar anyone had ever known. Not only was Aunt Fibs compulsive (almost everything she said was a complete fabrication) but she told some inconceivably big fat fibs. We’re talking soul-sullying, nose-growing, memoir-writing sized untruths. Aunt Fibs didn’t deal in little white lies.

Aunt Fibs was also the sort of relative that couldn’t be bothered remembering birthdays or dropping in to visit her family. When confronted about it, she always had a far-fetched excuse ready that was sure to clear her of any blame. It didn’t matter that Aunt Fibs was always caught in her lies (usually in an embarrassing scene), her conviction was unwavering. That’s her story and she’s sticking to it.

One year, again failing to make the rounds to check in on friends and family, Aunt Fibs asserted that she couldn’t possibly venture out to visit her relatives because she was desperately ill. In fact, she spent much of her time hospitalized. Yes, that was it. And her leg was causing her all sorts of problems, you know. She might even need surgery. She had one foot in the grave. And not even the bad foot! But she was a fighter and as soon as she was well she’d come out to see everyone, she promised.

A few more months of absenteeism followed in which family started to call Aunt Fibs and inquire about her recovery. Alas, Aunt Fibs was far worse than before. She had spent more time in the hospital (Hadn’t they heard?) and the future looked grim. And how was that problem leg of hers?

“Amputated!” Aunt Fibs said.

At this point the relatives began to feel guilty about doubting Aunt Fibs’s tales of woe. So one day well wishers turned up at Aunt Fibs’s door with gifts, cards, and flowers. They rang the doorbell nervously, reminding themselves not to gawk at the prosthesis, peg, or ragged stump they might expect. You can imagine their surprise when Aunt Fibs herself answered the door . . . with all her limbs very much intact. They stood there staring for a moment, their mouths all agape. Then someone pointed and said, “Your leg!”

“Oh . . . yes . . . ” Aunt Fibs replied, undaunted. “It grew back.”