HAPPY ELECTION DAY!
According to a special documentary on “body language” over
ninety percent of all human communication is non-verbal. (As I type this, my
shoulders are very pinched and close to my ears.)
Everyone lies.
I am told that this is true, because people have seen it on a t-shirt
and a fictional character on television repeats it a lot. (At this point, my
lips are pursed, emphasizing the fine lines and fissures into which my lipstick
tends to pour.)
Therefore, if everyone lies and ninety percent of
communication is non-verbal then forget about what’s coming out of people’s
lips and concentrate on what’s happening between their eyes. (A wrinkle shaped
like a cavern just deepened near my left eye.)
I hate lying. I love liars. (My right eye is twitching so
hard I can hear it.)
That is a lie. I don’t love liars. I try to love liars in
the “love the sinner, hate the sin” way, but it’s hard, because liars tend to
lie, and they can’t be trusted with your automobiles, wallet, lawn mower, good
name, daughters, or your female cat, and she’s been spayed. I continue to try
to love liars, but it’s a struggle.
No, it’s not a struggle; that’s a lie. It’s more like a
wrestle—Greco/Roman style.
Liars are exhausting, because you have to listen to them
lying and “read” their body language all at the same time. Or if you’re not
around when the liar is lying then you have to hire someone to watch the liar
lie, and if you live in a particularly dishonest society, eventually you will
run out of people, to watch the people, who are supposed to be watching the
people—in case the people are lying or plagiarizing or faking important
governmental reports. (See? It’s
exhausting.) So, if it’s true that everyone lies then we’re screwed.
My favorite story about liars is a story my husband likes to
tell. (I use it here with permission—no, not really. I totally stole his
story.)
At a father/son campout, my husband and others continually
warned one young boy to cease and desist putting a sharp, pointy stick in the
campfire, igniting the end of the sharp, pointy stick, and then wandering about
the campground while waving the now flaming, sharp, pointy stick in the air. He
agreed to stop—verbally. (The body language test results have been misplaced.)
“Put that stick out,” they demanded. He put it out.
Sherwood retired to his tent, only to emerge later to see
the young boy standing in the middle of the campground holding the flaming,
sharp, pointy stick aloft—apparently in tribute to the pointy stick fire gods.
“Son!” My husband calls all boys son; it doesn’t necessarily
mean a blood relation. “Son! Did you put that stick back in the fire?”
The young boy said, “Nope.”
We have boys. Sherwood knew what he was up against.
“Are you holding a stick?”
“Maybe.”
“Is your hand in a curved position around a former tree
branch?”
The phrase “former tree branch” tripped the kid up.
“Yes,” the boy said.
“Is that stick on fire?”
“I don’t know.”
A shower of sparks made the boy flinch. His body language gave him away.
I know it’s old fashioned. I know it’s considered a simple
fix for a simple mind, but I like the Ten Commandments. They were written on
stone, thus saving paper. They’re short. They’re numbered. They’re to the
point.
I especially like the one that read: Thou shalt not force me to have to learn
body language to be able to tell if you’re a big, fat liar when I ask, “Who
busted the loveseat?” and you tell me, “I don’t know.” And then six months
later, I find broken bits of loveseat hidden behind our wedding picture and all
over the house—Sherwood Kevin Zern! And all the grandkids were in on it,
including Reagan and she doesn’t have teeth. (I am now leaning toward the
computer screen in a combative, aggressive posture.)
Yep. That’s my favorite commandment. Nah, I’m lying. Actually, I believe that there are
really only two commandments and they’re my favorites.
Thou shalt love God and thou shalt love thy neighbor as
thyself . . . because people who love their neighbors don’t lie to, steal from,
lust for, cheat over, shoot at, curse up, or covet their neighbor’s good
looking donkeys. Nice people only need two rules, in my opinion.
Linda (Read My Lips) Zern
