Deceitful: (adj) attribute of a person who engages in concealment or distortion of the truth for the purpose of misleading

Top Three Reasons Given for Being Deceitful—A.K.A. The Sure, Pure, Cure Dilemma

1. “I was deceitful because I was not sure I was being deceitful, having seen other people do exactly the same thing. I was fairly certain I was on solid ground—until it was obvious I wasn’t. So I do not believe it’s right for me to be punished since I wasn’t sure, when other people have gotten by with it, most assuredly.”

2. “I was not being deceitful. I was merely looking for a cure for the situation. Everybody else was standing around or sitting on their hands, so I did what was necessary in the moment to produce a solution—a cure, if you will—and set in motion some relief from the drama and tension. How was I to know the way it would be interpreted or viewed by those around me? Does it not matter that my motivations were good?”

3. “There is no doubt—and you just try to find someone who can prove that my actions were not pure. But because circumstances came about that tainted my efforts, the purity of my mission was marred by decisions that were made in the moment, which ended up being erroneous, if not erred.”

These are the three positions that are taken by scoundrels who would like to walk away from their actions by averting your attention from what literally happened to what might have occurred if things had worked out better.

Left out of the explanation is the moment of clarity—when each and every one of us knows that what we set out to do has gone awry, and if we’re going to continue it, we’re going to have to lie and cheat to make sure that no one notices how wrong it has turned out to be.

It reminds me of the first time I made a cake in the oven.

It was going to be a special one. Why?

A. Because I usually don’t bake cakes.

B. It was a special kind of cake that needed to rise at just the right moment for it to be considered cooked correctly.

C. And it was a tribute for a very kind person who was worthy of our attention.

I didn’t tell anyone I had never made a cake before, but it quickly became obvious to me that I should not be the baker. Still, that didn’t stop me from trying.

When I didn’t have some of the ingredients, I walked into the room and warned the people that the cake might taste a little different than what they were accustomed to eating.

When the cake didn’t rise high enough, I explained to those around me that it was “my rendition” of this cake—that I thought it would look better if it were not so high and mighty.

Yet when it finally burned, I stepped out and said, “I fucked up the cake.”

I suppose I could have tried to sell them on the notion that burning a cake was a tradition offering great homage to the special guest.

I didn’t.

Somewhere along the line we have to admit that what we set out to do is no longer in play.

Otherwise, we are deceitful.

And the sooner we confess, the less we look like flaming assholes.


Bake: (v) to cook food by dry heat, typically in an ovenDictionary B

It’s not easy to feed seven people–three adults and four children who ranged in age from 8 to 14. Yet for a particular season, this was my station in life.

The similarities in taste among these individuals were minimal. So trying to come up with an entrée nightly which was simple to fix and acceptable for consumption by the persnickety clientele was a Herculean task.

After a while, I decided to prepare foods that were pleasant for me to do and reasonable to purchase. “Since satisfying the masses is impossible, let us budget our time and our money.”

And it fell my lot as the dad of this particular group to cook since the two ladies of the household approached the subject as if they were discerning hieroglyphics.

One of my favorite things to prepare was baked chicken.

First of all, I purchased it in ten-pound bags, which cost about five dollars, and then placed it on two baking sheets, salted and peppered the tops and stuck them into the oven at 375 degrees for about an hour.

As you probably know, how long you cook a chicken is very important. If it’s undercooked, it is not only gross, but also threatens to kill you with salmonella. If it’s overcooked, it gets mushy–like it belongs in a jar of baby food.

Yet the skin, turning a golden brown, is not only fattening, but a true delicacy.

My children grew to hate baked chicken–and if you asked them about it today, I’m sure one or more would shudder.

It wasn’t baked chicken every night, but certainly the bird was put to the flame at least twice a week.

So that my children would not grow up frightened of an oven and what it bakes, I occasionally pulled out of the magic box homemade cookies and things like that, so that they would not end up fearing all things baked.

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