Why I Tell My Wife Big Fat Lies

Is it always wrong to lie to your partner?

I don’t think so, but I’ve been doing it for the best part of thirty years so I would say that, wouldn’t I? In my view, it boils down to motive. If you’re lying with good intentions, then not only is it excusable, it’s almost mandatory.

Here’s what I mean. Your partner is heading out the door for an appointment and is running late. She’s worried the outfit she’s wearing makes her bum look big. She asks for your opinion. Even if you think it does make her bum look big, why would you tell her so? She probably doesn’t have time to change. She certainly doesn’t have time to lose weight. So why wouldn’t you simply say, “You look great!” and put her mind at rest?

Please note — men also worry about this kind of thing. ‘Does this shirt make me look like I have a big double chin?’ is a commonly heard question in our house.

That’s an example of a straightforward untruth told with no self-interest involved. But what if you’re lying and your intentions are less than pure?

The Andrews Sisters

My wife and I had tickets for a lunchtime gig last Friday. A trio of female singers were doing a session of close harmony jive and swing numbers. Think The Andrews Sisters only with Irish accents. Not my thing, being honest, but my wife was looking forward to it.

The only problem was I was hit with a chest infection last week. I was still feeling rough by the time Friday morning rolled around. Under normal circumstances, I’d have told my wife I was too sick to venture out and advised her to go sit under the apple tree with anyone else but me. However, these weren’t normal circumstances.

You see, I was also looking forward to a much different event last week. On Saturday, my favourite sports team, Ulster Rugby, were playing a big match at home in the European Champions Cup. It was a game Ulster supporters had been anticipating for months. No way was I going to miss this, even if I had to shuffle through the turnstile attached to an IV drip.

Poor Optics

But think of the optics if I hadn’t made the lunchtime gig on Friday. Too sick to go with my wife to a musical event in a heated indoor venue, but well enough the next day to join my drinking buddies at an outdoor rugby match in sub-zero temperatures.

That’s not a good look for any man. My wife’s a reasonable person, but at some point, she’d have got to thinking about that and not liking it. To misquote Rick in Casablanca, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of my life.

Being sick on Friday wasn’t an option, therefore, but my recovery had to look and sound convincing. If I appeared ill, my wife would take the decision to call off the outing.

Victory Day Parade

She’s remarked before that I stoop and drag my feet when I’m not well, so come Friday morning, stooping and feet dragging were out. Instead, I was poker-up-the-arse straight and goose-stepping like a Russian soldier on Victory Day.

I tried my best to sound chipper, too. When she asked if I was sure I was feeling well enough to go, I gave her a cheeky-chappie wink and a big fat lie.

‘Raring to go! Your boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B is In the Mood and ready to hop on that Chattanooga Choo Choo!’

I didn’t really say that. I may be a liar, but I’m not a dick.

Bad Person?

So we went, and she enjoyed it. More, she knew I wasn’t feeling completely better, so she appreciated the effort I made on her behalf.

Not a lie that sprung from pure intentions, that’s true. But one that served us both well. My wife got to enjoy the Irish Andrews Sisters. She also got to think that she’s married to a considerate, diamond of a man, one willing to drag his sick ass out the door so she didn’t miss her show.

For my part, I earned brownie points and got to see the match — which Ulster lost, the useless fuckers —without appearing like a self-centred arsehole.

All thanks to a big fat lie.

Am I a bad person?