[der Moench]

White lies. Little white lies. They help us get through life. We hear white lies at work and at play. We tell white lies for pleasure and convenience. We use white lies the way a carpenter uses a hammer: Your check is in the mail; easy to install; only takes a minute; a child could do it; this won’t hurt a bit; trust me; be glad to do it; no problem; slices, dices in seconds; actual mileage may vary; it followed me home, can I keep it? I mailed it a month ago; I’m working late at the office tonight; this is my real phone number; I forgot to turn the machine on; I think of you as a friend; she’s just a friend; I need time, time to think, time to be by myself.

White lies are an umbrella in the stormy weather of unrelenting, tiny truths: Beauty is only skin deep; it matches your eyes; you have an interesting personality; you have an interesting face; your poem is the best poem I have ever read; it was . . . interesting; I had a wonderful time; it was the best time I’ve ever had; I love foreign movies; let’s do it again sometime.

White lies are Band-Aids on the gaping wound of the morality gap: I didn’t know you could sing; you don’t think like a Capricorn; diamonds are a girl’s best friend; money isn’t everything; you’re a gem, a jewel; you’re irreplaceable; if you don’t like it, you can quit; you can stop any time; we can take it or leave it; trust me.

White lies give us an excuse to do what we were gonna do in the first place: This is just a neighborhood watch; this is just a border patrol; we won’t use these weapons; this is just national security; these aren’t troops, they’re advisors; I’m sorry; I didn’t mean it; the end justifies the means.

Just little white lies. They help us get through life.

I gotta go.

How true, how true.

Peace.