Lie to Me

Trolling ye ole interweb, one meets a variety of people. The conversations I've had recently have been...well, let's just say they've ranged from "Wanna hug me" except substitute the phrase Robin Thicke thinks rhymes with "hug me" even though what rhymes with "pluck me" does not really rhyme with "hug me". But I digress. Yes, I've gotten LOTS of premature requests for "hugging". Then there are the long, lovely, well-crafted conversations. The kind you can only have with a stranger because you don't know the person on the other end of this virtual connection. That fact alone is freeing. You can say or express or BE anything you want and so can that other person. Disingenuousness is a hazard of such impersonal communication. And yes, I just used the word disingenuousness.

I've heard many an account from social media friends about catfishers, scammers, and just out-and-out liars lurking behind benign smiling profile pics. We've all fallen for a cunning-linguist who supposedly looks like the construction worker from the old Diet Coke commercial. Of course he's real, dahling, because guys who look like that and are self-made millionaires really are lonely lost souls at 2:00AM, scrounging for just my personal brand of beauty and wit to save them from their pointless existences. Riiiiiiight.

But, in the end, if all you are looking for is someone who gives good conversation, does it matter if it's all a fantasy? I'm not talking about the guy who posted pics from twenty years and a hundred pounds ago and then asks you out for a drink and is surprised when you "must rush home to handle an emergency". And no, I'm going all Shallow Hal on y'all. I'm just sayin', if you really do intend to meet a person IRL, doesn't it make sense to market the current version of yourself?

However, if the point is to flirt, blow off a little steam, and discuss the meaning of life via text or whatever messaging app tickles your fancy, does it really matter if the carpet does NOT match the drapes? I'm not so sure it does. Case in point: there's a gentleman that I have epic conversations with who I know cannot be who he purports to be. I have a nearly eidetic memory and the facts he's shared with me and perhaps forgotten he's shared with ([read] fabricated for) me just don't add up. Some of it must be based in fact because the best lies always are. And that he's created this character doesn't change the fact that he makes me laugh, he fluffs up my ego and well, he's smarter than your average bear which I find refreshing. That being said, there's no way in hell I would ever give him too much detail about where I live or any such personal details. I mean there's fun crazy and then there's It-Puts-The-Lotion-On-Its-Skin crazy and I'm not really sure on which side of the fence he resides.

Perhaps in this time of filtered selfies, graphic imposed teddy bear faces, and truly anonymous communication, suspension of disbelief isn't to be feared. It's to be expected.

Namaste,

Cindy