Of Truth and Consequences

We were dating for almost two years, and things were good with us. Her name was Ilona Kerekes, and contradicting the meaning of her last name, she was slim* and tall.

We talked on the phone every day and, at least twice a week, I picked her up at her building or at the store and went for dinner at a place on the Lower Ossington strip and then to her place. I would spend the night most of the time (not all of the time). On summer weekends, we would take a leisurely drive in the country and find a romantic inn with old-fashioned, comfortable rooms where a proper breakfast was served at your table, not as buffet. We would jog and swim in the lake: things were good with us.

A few months into the relationship, I decided never to lie to Ilona. I don't know what came over me. Gentle reader, I must confess, admit, and acknowledge that I am a very successful and accomplished liar since early childhood. I was born with a remarkable talent to tell lies and honed and perfected my skill. I can (and will) get away with incredible shit.

A couple of days ago, Ilona called and asked if I was free "tomorrow evening". She said she'll pick me up after work to "go somewhere". I said, "Yes, sure." While Ilona drove, I asked where we're going, she just said "You'll see." We rolled into the parking lot of the "Imperial Bowling and Entertainment" and inside were greeted by thirty or forty friends who shouted "Surprise!!!!" That's when I remembered that it was my birthday.

I hate bowling, I don't understand how anybody can enjoy it and what's the point, but I put my best face on and ate disgusting chili-dogs and drank beer from large paper cups, did Jägermeister shots from small paper cups and thanked everybody for being there and put my courtesy coupon carefully away in my wallet.

Towards the end, after we had the horrible cake in the shape of a red-and-white "35", Ilona  asked me how I liked my surprise birthday party. Operating under my new no-lies policy, I told her how grateful I was and thanked her for the effort, the nice thought, and the beautiful intention, but I hated every minute of it and tried to hug her and kiss her. Ilona's face got dark, she shoved me and walked to the door shouting, "You can take an Uber home, you cretin!" There I stood wondering if  things were good with us.

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* kerek, in Hungarian, means round or rotund or wheel, kerekes is rounded