By Robert Oakman (Vaughan, ON)

I cannot tell you how it began but there are times in my interactions with friends, family, and strangers alike that truth seems to escape my grasp and, what could be described as embellishments, slip through my lips. It has become a skill that I am so adept at that at times it seems to be the only way I can relate to others. The truth becomes a story that may not be entirely factually accurate.

It was at a bar in my home town not long ago that the drink was working on my normally gentle manner and a quiet night had the potential of taking an exciting turn. A pretty bartender had captured my attention but, after pleasantries, all attempts to garner a rapport were unsuccessful. Desperate for an in I had heard her talking to waitress about her brother and figured common ground might do. I know your brother I brazenly announced and was encouraged by her surprise. I thought my plan had worked. I'm her brother. said a young man a few stools down. My skill turned on full power and I replied automatically Yeah, don't you remember me?

A few snickers were heard as I lowered my head and said nothing further. I finished my pint and left the bar alone.

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