It's not even in se7en

NightFly, on his (sorry...!) first visit to these parts yesterday, hit the nail right on the head and asked me if I was a consummate liar. I said yes, of course. But I'm not sure. Of course I am a liar, I wouldn't be writing this if I weren't (can't see the logic? Tough. I certainly can't explain it.).
I'm just not convinced I'm consummate about it.
I can tell you this much: I think I'm good.
I used to do stage-acting, have I told you that? I quit a few years ago, because of multiple reasons, first and foremost the fact that I thought I wasn't particularly good at it anymore.
And then I took my life in my own hands, changed a few things around, quit my job, and bam! it seems my acting ability has now come back.
I was spending a lovely evening with some friends a couple weeks back, and psychic handicaps were mentioned (one of said friends is a therapist). Somebody cracked a joke, because that's what we do when we're together, we crack jokes. Never-ending fun. Anyway, once that joke was cracked, I felt the urge to just pretend to cry, say that it was cruel to make fun of the pain some people (i might have said "we") are going through and bla bla bla. Which of course I'm convinced is true, except come on, it's Saturday night, we've had a couple... there's no need for PC anymore. So I quaver and burble and. I suddenly have to stop, because if I don't, I will be crying.
And everybody in the room has suddenly gone quiet, thinking they really have hurt me and my feelings. It took me about 5 minutes to make them understand that no, really, I was just faking it and I didn't really have a psychic handicap. Let me reassure you, it didn't kill the party, but the mere fact that I'd faked it made them question the "not having a psychic handicap" part, and I'll admit that believing I suffer from a psychic handicap is not after all so ridiculous.
Second case in point, even sillier.
Last Saturday, at some point, somebody mentioned George Clooney. For what reason, I honestly can't remember. I do remember however casually barging into the conversation saying something to the effect that I'd bumped into him on Rue de Rivoli, and gone talk to him and he was lovely and funny and very approachable and he'd given me his e-mail address. I slipped into character effortlessly obviously, but still, they tried to trip me, and never could. Being good fun (...) but not pathological (really) about it, I eventually told everyone that it wasn't true. Except one girl to whom I never got round to admitting it. For all I know, she still believes it now. George, if you read this, make me say the truth, for once. Contact me.