Conveniently I’ve never stooped to any significant kind of inappropriate behavior, or at least not anywhere near significant enough to make it unavoidably necessary to keep constantly covering it up with a lie. That must be quite a rotten feeling, complete with frustration, fear, anxiety and all sorts of other problems. Life is hard enough for each of us without his having to keep incessantly perpetuating a fabricated story in order to bluff his way out of trouble. In that sense I’ve always been quite a boring inconspicuous sort of a fellow. As I’ve said before, all those detective stories and murder mysteries make quite a legitimate point. Sooner or later the truth will always sneak up on the culprit, and he will, in one way or another, be forcibly confronted with his just deserts. Each day there’s a new revelation in the media about someone who, after having hid something away for quite a significant length of time, even decades, is forced to face up to his comeuppance. The bad news is that my life tends to be confusing and annoying. The good news, though, is that I rarely have to be bothered with facing up to any exceptionally big trouble. If I tell any lies they’re always just the stupid little ones.