GUEST POST** Why our mothers taught us that lying is a bad idea!

As a single girl in Sydney sometimes I feel as though I’m answering the same answers to the same questions in clubs/pubs when you meet men. I can tell you now that I am far from being interested in feeling like I have had 10 jobs interviews on a Friday or Saturday night when all I really want is to have a bit of a dance and drink. Although, I seem to cop the same questions and ask the same ones back – “where are you from?”; “What do you do for work?”; “Where do you normally go out?” So when I finally decide that I will mix it up a bit for my own entertainment I find that a little white lie is not always the best way.

On the Easter long weekend that has just been I decide to kick start it with a Thursday night at the Establishment. Now this place has been referred to as the dry cleaners- for the sheer fact that this is where women go to pick up a “suit”. Now please note, I am only 24 and not interested in picking up a 45yr old stock broker who is fat and balding (apologies for the stereotype) and this is genuinely just a central meeting place for my girls. When all my friends arrive and we are getting quite merry we decide that it is time to move onto another venue- Ivy Pool. One of my good friends Julie, who is actually French, is amongst the dream team. Now, this may only just happen to me, but if I am around someone with an accent I actually also “catch” the accent after a few drinks.

 

On the exit of the Establishment a cute boy catches my eye and we start to have a chat. A French accent actually comes out and all of a sudden I am a sexy European woman who has been inAustraliafor 5 years and I have quite broken (and interesting) English. After 1.5 min’s of talking with the young gent he asks for my number and I give it to him before I am off to Ivy. I also have a theory that I have shared with some friends that if you have an accent that the guy will ask for your number 5 times faster than if you don’t and the research I have conducted thus far has proven the theory correct.

Again,  I run into Mr Establishment at Ivy Pool and start chatting away to him in my French accent and making up stories about my travels fromParistoSydneywhilst he can barely understand me. Shortly after he has to leave as his friends are taking off and I carry on the rest of the night in a tequila blur without giving him another thought. I actually loose the accent as not slurring my words in English is hard enough already.

Low and Behold, the next day at mid morning I receive a text from the Mr Establishment starting with “Bonjour” and followed by him asking me out on a date that night. I suddenly am diverted back to my French alter ego the night before and thinking hmm… maybe I should just go on a date as a sexy Frenchie- but the sober thought has not much appeal, mostly because I was transported back to this memory……

A friend of mine also decided once upon a time to pretend to be Swedish and she actually starting seeing the guy for a bit over a month. She played the part exquisitely and she would even occasionally drop some Swedish in between her accented broken English. One night it all came to a head when she was serenading her lover with a song on the guitar, naked I may add. Considering it was 3am and her brother was asleep, surprisingly this woke him up and he entered her room with her sitting on the bed, guitar in hand and naked. Her man was sitting behind the door out of sight of her brother and so here she was trying to put on her Swedish accent to her brother and trying to explain …. Let’s just say from there it all ended in tears and her being called a “weirdo”

Recalling on this story made me think that it was best that I owned up to my white lie and admitted that I actually was not French. Mr Establishment took the news very well and he laughed it off and gave me a compliment on my French accent and continued to ask me out. Lesson learnt- no lying about foreign birth places.

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