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Fictitious Truth

My sister has always--in my eyes--been the family story teller. She knows how to slowly weave through a narrative so that by the end the pieces all fit together into a perfect tapestry. I love listening to her build because I know that the funny part is just around the corner.

Through her stories she made me believe she was a changeling for an entire afternoon. I think it was one of the best afternoons I had as a kid. However, it is because of times like these that I wonder: how many of her stories are fact and how many are fiction?

Let me paraphrase one of my favorite stories from my sister for you.

One day I was walking down the hallway [in middle school], and I saw this girl wearing a candy necklace. It looked so good that I couldn't believe the girl hadn't eaten it. As she was passing by I couldn't resist. I extend my head out [mimicking actions] and try to snag a piece of candy off her necklace.

I am sure my response was something like "What?!?" probably with a dropped jaw. Of course knowing I was hooked probably only urged her to continue the story. Which continued with:

Unfortunately, I missed the necklace and bit her neck.

You might think me really gullible, a really gullible kid, but you have to admit. This is an awesome story, and at this point, I normally like to tell it as truth--well at least a fictitious truth.

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