I have a secret. Ok, I have more than one secret, but most of them are rather inconsequential and unimportant. Only one of my secrets has caused me to lie to Mike in the past couple of months. Some lies of omission and some out-and-out, right to your face, Hey! I'm Not Telling You the Truth lies.
The big secret is that I am planning a surprise party for Mike. Next Saturday. For his 40th birthday. I've been planning it basically forever at this point. Practically ever since he turned 39. But the big date finally approaches. It looms on my monthly calendar in big letters (and with the date circled):
(Note the double exclamation points here. See what a big deal this is? I am not, generally speaking, a double-exclamation-point sort of person. Also please appreciate my rudimentary attempt to create a calendar day square. It may surprise you to learn that no special graphics program was required - I make this magic with just a regular keyboard and the basic symbols.)
Back to my problem... The thing is, I am a horrible, not-good liar. I hate lying and I hate being lied to. It is My Thing. If we are all allowed to have one Thing that pushes our buttons, this is mine. Control issues? Sure. So this has been hard for me.
The lies of omission have been a bit hard, but I guess we all tell (so to speak) those all the time. Those are only bad, in my opinion, if the omissions include information that you know the person would have explicitly wanted to know if given the opportunity to ask the appropriate question.
My real problem is the actual verbal untruths. I know this time it is for a good cause, etc., but it is just a really difficult thing for me. And, in light of the true utter coward that I have just recently realized that I am, I have now taken to having as much communication with Mike about the next couple of weeks as I can via e-mail. Now, I don't think this is coming off as odd because we e-mail a lot during the course of the day anyway, but still it feels like I'm behaving strangely. To me.
So now the planning is done, the guest list is (reasonably) set, the food is ordered, the hotel rooms are booked and I should be in the home stretch. So why does this feel like the hardest part?