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The Lies Parents Tell.

Fat Mum Slim /

The kids were in the lounge room, entertained with food, drinks and TV, and I was in the bedroom jumping on a conference call with people I’d never met. I presume that most people know how a conference call works, but for those that don’t, let me enlighten you. Basically you dial in a number, and it will prompt you to say your name so that it can record your voice. I’m never prepared, and I always freak out at the sound of my voice, but eventually I muster up a “Chantelle” and then I’m in.

And because I’m notoriously early to EVERYTHING I do, I’m always the first in the virtual conference room. I patiently wait, wondering how much of the lounge room the kids could have destroyed in the small amount of time I’ve been absent. One person enters the conference call {let’s call her Jane} and then another person enters {let’s call her Barb}. We make small talk while we wait for three more people to join us.

Except they’re late. I’ve never met the people on the other end of the line, nor talked to them on the phone, so it’s a lot of talk of weather, and news-worthy topics which make me want to pass out and sleep for a zillion years. And then somehow we end up on the most random conversation of pets, and then pets dying. Nothing like a bit of morbid small talk before a business chat.

Well, it wasn’t straight up death-talk, it went a little like this:

Jane: I remember when my dad bought me an old pony for one Christmas, but then when I was older it got taken to a farm.

Barb: Oh yes! Well, we all know that the farm means. {Awkward laugh}

Me: Well we had some chickens and a dog, but they actually really went to a farm. Dad took them there.

Barb: You know there really is no farm, right? They probably died.

Me: No, really. He took them to the farm. I’m sure of it.

And then we change topics, because I quickly realise that there was a likelihood that I had been lied to by my parents and that there actually wasn’t a farm.

Now, on a side note… as I sit here and type this, I am realising not only how truly morbid this topic is, but also how kinda sad it is too. Please don’t hate me for discussing this.

The other three people join the conversation, and I forgot about the farm chat until weeks later when I was driving in the car with my sister and I suddenly remembered. “Hey, you know when Dad took our chickens and our dog to the farm?”

She did.

“Well, it was really the farm, right?”

“Of course,” she agreed, “What else would it be?”

There was nothing more to do, other than to call dad and settle it. And by settle it, I mean discover the heartbreaking truth that there was no farm. There was never a farm.

We were slightly shocked, and upset, and then started to question everything. What else had we been lied to about?

And more recently, when I was at the gym I mentioned to my trainer that someone was wearing a nice ‘kidney belt’. He asked me, “Kidney belt?” My dad had told me that the belts that weightlifters wore were called kidney belts, to keep their kidneys from popping out. ANOTHER LIE. Also, those white bumpy strips on the side of roads that make noises if you veer off? Yeah, for blind drivers apparently. ANOTHER LIE.

What fibs did your parents tell you?