You can't lie if you are on Facebook (story)

Recently, I attended a party, a significant departure from my hermit ways, where I had a reasonably good time.

I met some people I haven't seen for an age, I had some wine (after pointedly asking 'where are the drinks please' several times, my hostess finally grudgingly showed me where they were hidden), I even met some new people.

Now, don't get me wrong, I enjoy meeting new people, but I am, I have decided, quite shy until I know what and who I am dealing with and also, there is that whole hermit thing. It's been a while since I've socialised with anyone other than my cats.

So, I'm waiting for my friend, the hostess, to finish chatting to the weird ginger haired bloke in a death metal Tee, when this guy with black spiked up hair and bright red face with traces of some sort of infection around his mouth plumps himself on the miniature sofa next to me. He's wearing a jeans jacket over a dirty looking tee shirt and skinny jeans and holds a paper plate heaped with dry meats, potato salad and cheese.

Oh well, think I, I'll just sit here quietly until he either goes away or my friend is free to chat, whichever comes first. The back of the tiny sofa expands to envelop me.

But no, he turns to me and says hi and introduces his friend who I didn't even notice sitting on the chair behind me. The friend is chomping down the chow and looks as pleased to meet me as if I'd just shoved a prize winning carrot up his backside. On the plus side, his baby face is smooth and his locks are flaxen. He puts me in mind of Jude Law back when he was cute. The black leather jacket he is wearing doesn't even look stolen.

Several awkward smiles later, I'm squirming and casting worrying glances towards my friend who is unhurriedly chatting to the weird death metal guy when Mr Spiky hair decides to start up a conversation; who do you know here, where to do you live, blah blah. Except that, worryingly, it all sounds a bit like an interrogation. The good cop bad cop routine. The bad cop with the cute face meanwhile hasn't said a thing. He is chewing his food and sending me evils.

I tell Mr Spiky that I live out in the sticks with the rest of the grown ups. (I regret this later, but it's a defense mechanism; I go on the offensive as soon as I feel even slightly insecure, and I was feeling plenty insecure right then.)
He promptly insists I define the parameters of grown upness and I consider this for a smidgen before concluding that grown ups are people who worry more often than they have fun. (I'm going for the sympathy here, maybe even some tears, though an arm around the shoulder would be too much).

"Did you hear this, Mr Grumpy," he says to his friend who is now almost finished chewing. Mr Grumpy is unmoved. Mr Spiky is equally unimpressed and stomps off in search of new food. I use this opportunity to get up and dive towards my friend but she has disappeared somewhere and suddenly I can't see anyone I know. Dismayed, I turn around and almost walk into Mr Spikey coming back with food refill. He pauses, expecting me to resume my place between him and and his friend but I suggest we swap places, assuming he'd rather be excused from the futility that was our conversation. He sits down. I stay standing. There is still nobody I know around and I feel my despondent face creeping on. Eventually, Mr Spiky, his softer side engaged by the grub, announces that he is sure we can all find something to talk about. So we do. He tells me about himself and Mr Grumpy and how they are both spies. I smile indulgently but he seems quite serious about it. He insists that both he and Mr Grumpy work for the government and have been friends for many years now, having met on a seminar back when Coldplay were cool. He is very persuasive. He gives me facts and theories and all the while Mr Grumpy is nodding sagely along with possibly a trace of a smirk but it is dark so I can't be sure.


Couple of days later and I'm chatting to my friend over coffee, saying how nice the party was and weren't those two guys who work for the government strange? Government? she repeats puzzled. That's odd, coz Mr Spiky is a journalist - he's on my Facebook, look him up if you like.

I did. Mr Spikey, I looked you up and I found all your articles in the Daily Telegraph. You don't even write about the government you lying little sack of potatoes. And I can't believe how gorgeous your girlfriend is - my friend pointed her out at the coffee house - she is way out of your league. What imaginative lies you must have told her. [ok, I apologize, that was a cheap shot]

However, unlike Mr Grumpy's face, I am not bitter and I sincerely hope you never grow up.

See you around.