Up Till Now: The Autobiography

Which is true, by the way, but when I said it there was an element of self-protection in it.
    Elizabeth wasn’t buying that particular bridge. “You lied to me,” she said.
    Technically, I pointed out, I didn’t lie. I just didn’t say anything. Technically, smecknically, she was furious. That precipitated an argument about exactly what is a lie. Let me hazard a guess that we were not the first married couple to debate that question. The best way to describe the outcome of that argument is I got my lawn trimmed. I got my shingles nailed down. I got my car waxed. I was wrong and, maybe not right away, but I admitted it.
    I have learned that the definition of exactly what is a lie is quite different to men and women. Let me give you another example. When Elizabeth and I were dating we went to a several-days-long horse show. She was riding in the competition, which meant she brought five or six different riding outfits with her. As is common, she left those expensive outfits hanging in the tack room. Usually what happened was that after each performance I would take the wardrobe that she’d worn off the rack and put it in the trunk of thecar, so we would have the minimal number of costumes to carry home at the end of the competition.
    But after the first day she noticed that one of her suits was missing. “I think somebody took it,” she said. “I know I brought it with me.” After her second ride another suit was missing. “Somebody is definitely taking them,” she said. “We have to lock this place up.”
    Three expensive riding suits were missing. I said to her, “Look, it has to be someone who’s tall and slim, like you. Probably an adolescent girl. There just aren’t too many people who can fit into your outfits. I’ll look for that person. I’ll find her.”
    When the competition ended I was standing by the car with several of Liz’s friends, packing the final suit into the trunk—and that’s when I realized what I had done. Rather than simply taking the outfit she’d worn each day, I’d carried off two of them. Nothing had been stolen. And as I realized this I saw Liz walking toward me. “Liz!” I shouted at her. “Great news. I got your garments back. I saw that girl and I followed her and I found them. I wrestled her to the ground, I got her in a headlock, and I took the wardrobe off her. Everything is here. I’m your hero!”
    Unfortunately, she believed me. She started crying. “I’ve never had a hero in my life,” she said. “I love you so much.”
    I was just about to tell her I was joking and we would have a big laugh at my stupidity—but how could I tell her? I was her hero! I thought, I’ll tell her tomorrow.
    The next day I was just about to tell her that I’d made up the whole story when I heard her tell one of my daughters, “Do you realize your father is a hero? He found the person who stole my clothing. I so admire him.”
    How could I tell her I was joking? Or, as she would have put it, lying. I decided to tell her . . . the following week, assuming she would have forgotten about it by then. It would be our little joke. Hey honey, remember that time...Next week, yeah, or maybe the week after. But as time passed she continued to tell the story to every single person that we meet. She told old friends, new friends, peopleshe was on line with at the market, even in an interview we did together. “My husband is a hero!”
    And there was nothing I could say. Months later we were at another horse show and one of the women who had been standing by the car when this all began asked me when I was going to finally tell Liz the truth.
    “You mean that I was joking?” I asked. “Maybe I don’t have to. You know, a lot of time has passed...”
    Her friend responded just like a woman. Actually, she was a woman. “You have to tell her. If you don’t, I will.”
    The next day I sat down with Liz. “Darling,” I began. “I have a funny story to tell you.”
    “You lied to me.” “It wasn’t a lie. I just got stuck in a story. Hey, it’s really pretty funny when you think about it. I took these outfits by mistake and we thought...”
    “You lied to me.” “I was desperate. I’m not a liar, but you were telling everybody I was a hero. What was I going to do? I’m not a hero...”
    To this page, as you read this, whenever you are reading this, you can be certain about one thing: Liz has never seen the humor in it.
    I don’t think I’ll ever successfully answer