I was out enjoying drinks with a friend last night and a girl interrupts to ask for a lighter. After lending her a lighter, she begins to profusely apologize for interrupting our conversation and I assure her that it is no big deal by uttering “no worries.”
Those two words then began a conversation that did in fact involve our new guest, Kate. She loved that I use that phrase and commented that it sounds distinguished. (I’ve been asked on occasion if I’m Canadian b/c of those words.)
We start relating stories to one another and as it turns out young Kate has an affinity for making up stories to tell randoms. I too have been known to do this on occasion. But Kate really goes above and beyond anything that I’ve told. And then she began telling us how she and her friend Paul had decided to get married not for love but to save money. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I had just read an article that made the arguement that staying single is actually cheaper. According to Kate, being married would be the perfect excuse to give someone if she wasn’t interested in that person. In the event that either of them meets someone that captures their fancy, no big thing, they’ll divorce. Ahh, Kate.
As Kate kept talking, the more I began to wonder what was, if anything, real about her.
At the time I had wished that I told more elaborate stories to others. What’s the harm right? As I’m writing this, I’m not so sure. It sounds fun, but there are consequences for everything. At least that’s what my inner Jiminy Cricket is telling me. I’m eclectic for sure and full of quirks, but I’m not so sure that I want to add full time storyteller to my list. I think that I will let Kate keep her stories.