Monday, 28 April 2014


John Ross ©

I am just about ready to give up on today and go to bed. I have a black eye, a sore shin, a suspected cracked rib and many other bruises and scrapes.
Yesterday at confession I admitted to the priest that I had told a few lies lately and as a penance he asked me to spend a whole day where I only told the truth; the whole truth and nothing but the truth. He said it would feel so good that I would continue to do it.
Well he was wrong it feels bloody awful.
First thing this morning when my boss asked me what I thought of our latest product line. I told him the truth. It was ill conceived, poorly engineered and marketed. Then he asked me if I thought his judgement was flawed. I told him that he would not recognise a good idea even if it bit him on the nose.
An hour later, unemployed, out on the street, I ran into the next door neighbour’s son on his way to school. He asked if I had enjoyed his innings at last Saturday’s under 12 cricket match. I gave him a truthful critique of his style and told him he should take up net ball with his sister. Continued on my way with a very sore shin.
Limped into a coffee shop only to be met by my mother-in-law who asked if I liked her new blue rinse? Boy has she got a strong right cross. I think my eye is not permanently damaged but it sure is sore.
Retreating from the streets into a quiet bar for a pick- me-up, the barman asks what I thought of the bloody referee’s decisions in the footy game on the weekend where his team lost by a large margin. Again I had to tell him the truth. They were a hopeless lot of sissies and deserved to lose. The ref was technically right in every decision. Straight scotch can sting when it hits you in the face; especially on your newly damaged right eye.
Escaped into the local park to sit alone on a bench; lost in thought. Suddenly find myself surrounded by a mother with a pram, her husband and three other women all ardently admiring the baby. Before I can escape, and believe me I tried, the father asks me if his daughter is not just the most beautiful baby I have ever seen. I should have known from his build that he was probably a professional boxer. I must get my ribs x-rayed as soon as possible.
Well I think you get the drift of how my day of telling the truth has gone so far.
In my pyjamas and trying to pretend to be asleep when my wife comes in dressed in her latest purchases. She asks that dreaded question. Yes you are right! ‘Does my bum look big in this?’
Weeelll I am going straight to hell when I die. The truth is not all that it is cracked up to be.
‘Yes darling those skin tight jeans look wonderful.’

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