You can tell it whenever you want to whomever will listen. And all you have to say is, “Wow, I can’t believe my ______ (insert how you know me here: friend Susan/ wife/ mom/daughter/sister/favorite writer/Jazzercise buddy) just turned thirty-five.” (Rest assured; this is an improvement.) “She doesn’t look a day over thirty.”
Easy to recall and recite, it’s a one-size-fits-all fib. And it’s available to you to give to me with virtually no worries on your part. Unless you’re afraid God really will be galled. Then you might want to give me money. If my family and friends won’t advance my falsehoods, I’ll have to hire the doctor I’m due to see. Sure, it’ll be tough on my kids, but there’s a discount on Botox, Restylane, and Collagen if I pay cash.
