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You'd probably look at me and think I'm miss Susie Q straight-arrow honesty chick, a Georgette Washington, etc. Thing is, at times I resemble Nixon, not Washington. (Was going to say Clinton but I'm sick of that whole thing so let's just say Nixon, k?)

Truth is, I do lie. Often. Not incessantly, just enough when times warrant. I'm good at it.

Okay, backtrack. Warning: we are about to hear details about Katie's day. If you're bored by that kinda stuff, feel free to search the Diaryland database for words like "Engelbert" and "floozie."

Yesterday, as I was reluctantly thinking about getting ready for a double-shift work day (and on a Friday this is an ordeal, b/c it means starting early and staying late), I got a call from my favorite cousin whom I haven't seen in months saying she was in town, leaving the next day, and did I want to go to a water park with her and her sister that day?

So without a qualm, I called work claming a 101 fever (that's in Fahrenheit, for you Celsius folks; I know by your measurements I would be dead) and started putting on sunscreen. The only hitch was that my manager (the evil one that has me on the verge of quitting most of the time) said I would need a doctor's note before returning to work.

I had a blast at the water park. We rode rides, spent hours in the lazy river, drank two peach slurpees in a row (brain freeze does not counteract sunburn, I'll tell you that) and generally had a blast. I got quite burned, though. And needless to say, one does not usually engender a sunburn from most illnesses.

The wheels began to turn. I don't even think of it as lying, most of the time. I just think of it like I'm writing a story- my character is at point A and needs to reach point B, simply and plausibly. I played up the sore throat that messed up my aria at work on Wednesday, moved the water park trip to my day off on Thursday (with more severe sunburn to account for the residual redness when I return), and pretended I hadn't noticed a building bout of strep throat because the sunburn raised my temperature anyway.

For good measure, I took the day off today, as well. (Don't think I minded the sacrifice- all it was was Saturday lunch, and those are notoriously slow and infuriatingly non-lucrative.) They expected it, considering my fever and supposed doctor visit. I did, however, confirm that penicillin worked wonders and I'd be back to work Sunday at 3.

Only problem was my parents- they would definitely disapprove of playing hooky, they think it's irresponsible and shows a lack of respect for my employer. If it weren't my parents, I'd say, "Yeah, and...?" but they are my parents. So I dressed for "work," drove off... and went to help my cousins pack to drive back home. At an appropriate time in the afternoon, I decided it was time to go back home and pretend I was finished working.

It stings. I hate lying like this. Especially in long spurts where it gets more involved and my creativity is at war with all the small holes. If my parents had paid closer attention they would have realized my uniform was anything but sweaty when I got home and I didn't have my usual appetite from missing lunch (because I'd had home-baked cookies and helped fold clothes).

It all comes down to credibility, I guess. People trust me. I appear to be trustworthy and it would take some serious offenses to screw that up. But it still eats at me a bit. Which I guess is a good sign, means I'll make effort to stay as credible as possible by being as credible as possible.

Just had to get that out. And if my mom somehow wanders on to this page... all I can say is, which will I be more glad I did in as little as a month? Work three shifts and maybe bring in seventy or eighty dollars that I no longer need to add to my bank account, or spend valuable hours with loved family members? (I know, it's schmaltzy and manipulative to pull on heartstrings, but it's true and you know it.)

In the famous words of the unrepentant Terrible-Two I babysit, "I sowwy."

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