You're Looking Well: Social White Lies Explained

"And, after all, what is a lie? 'Tis but the truth in masquerade."
- Byron

Imagine if you had a giant syringe full of truth drug and went round injecting all your friends with it. Not bad, eh? Just picture their agonised faces as you force a massive needle into their helpless veins. Er, anyway, one of the interesting side-effects would be that all those little social white lies would disappear to be replaced with the horrible truth.

What they say... ...and what they mean.  
That was fun. We must do this again sometime. Run away, run away. You had ten pints last night. Ten pints of export. You could have sworn she was a dead ringer for love, but it turns out she is a dead ringer for Meatloaf's elderly mother. You have no idea what you did, but from the glint in her eye, you know she wants it again. And soon. Best plan of action is to run away, telling her that you are the result of a genetic experiment, and it is only a matter of time before your genital warts appear.
No, it's OK, it will wash out fine. Your children are the spawn of Satan. I could see those chocolatey fingers coming at me and my new Dolce et Gabbana suit a mile off. I will tell them that there is no Father Christmas. Then I will sack your husband. This happens when your dear other half unexpectedly brings around a work colleague, or worse, his boss. The house is in total disarray after you foolishly agreed that the local boy scout group could meet in your kitchen to learn how to cook pancakes over a candle. Of course the only thing they learn is where you keep your secret stash of expensive Belgian chocolate. And how easily it smears.
You haven't aged a bit! So, you couldn't afford a facelift then ? Guaranteed, there is one person who you went to school with who has married well. They do not have a job, but they do a lot for charity. Their children all go to public school, and rejoice in such names as Peregrine, or Letitia Annabel. They have an au pair called Inga, who is sleeping with the husband. And they will forget that they wet themselves in front of the whole class when Miss asked them to recite the 9 times table.
"The colour really suits you." "It makes you look like a stuffed tomato, and you have no chance of pulling that really gorgeous guy at the wedding reception." This happens when your best friend has been attending WeightWatchers religiously, while you sneered at her through a mouthful of pizza from the comfort of your couch. Of course, it has paid off for her, and she looks dazzling in a skin-tight short skirt, and you wonder what clothes you might possibly have with an elasticated waist.)
"Gosh, you're looking well." "My God, haven't you put weight on, you fat tart. Glad I finished with you when I did." This always happens when you run into your ex, you have your shell suit on, last nights make up still smeared around your puffy eyes, and have bloated up like a helium balloon because of rampant PMT. He is with a seven stone Barbie doll, who simpers at his side, whilst wondering what he ever saw in you.)
(looking at your hair) That's a new style for you, isn't it? My god what have you done to your hair, it looks like a badger slept in it last night and took a dump on the way out. Did you pay for that? I'd sue. I hope it looks better after you've brushed it. This often happens when you decide it's time for a change from the same style you've had for ten years. You've been going into work with the same clothes and hair style for so long no-one notices any more, then, as soon as one thing changes the office bozo comes up in front of everyone and draws attention to it. (by Ben Argyle)
Married? Me? Do I look like I am married? I am married. But for the purposes of this little flirting exercise, I will continue with the charade of purporting to be a single gadabout. Eric from Accounts got away with it last week when he pulled that stunning little piece of top totty, and what has he got that I haven't? (Hint - a personality.)
Leave it to me. And I will never get around to doing it. Recognise that the Pope will be celebrating his Bar Mitzvah before I've done whatever it is. Ladies, be on your guard. This is the stock reply that you will get from all men whilst the World Cup is on. And it is only a matter of time, believe me. Other phrases in his repertoire will include the all time classic 'uh huh', closely followed by 'okay'. You can tell him that aliens have turned his mother into an amorphous blob in the kitchen, and he will still say 'okay'. You can tell him you slept with the entire office last week at the annual party, both men and women every which way but straight, and he will mutter 'uh huh'. Instead of leaving it to him, leave the country and go somewhere like Alltyblacca, in deepest darkest Mid Wales, where they have Sheep TV. Works for me.
Of course I want to stay friends, sweetheart. But not in this lifetime. You are a danger to society and men in particular. I have seen that glint in your eye when you walk past the bread knife. This happens when the love of your life confesses to having a little fling, and you, not unreasonably ask him to leave. He will of course tell all his colleagues that you are an unstable neurotic woman, who needs a care in the community placement. And by the way, you can still see that moustache on your upper lip dear, despite the electrolysis.
The car broke down, honestly I ran into the lads and one pint led to another or nine. At least he has the grace to lie. But his words would carry more weight if they weren't borne on a gust of lager fumes.
I love you I've just seen a slushy film/read a slushy book, and I've been checking back in my diary and it's the full three years since I said it last time, and I fancy a bit of a bunk-up tonight. Ho fucking hum.