The Social Shield: On Lying to Your Friends
Using the dog to cancel plans you never intended to keep.
The Friday night text arrives at 8:15 PM.
The group is at a pub in Soho. You are on the sofa in South London. You have already committed to the evening’s primary lie: that you are “just finishing a long walk” and will be there in forty minutes.
In reality, the dog is asleep on your shins. You are eating toast over a paper towel to avoid getting crumbs on the cushion. You have no intention of moving.
You wait twelve minutes to make the timing feel authentic. You then send a second text claiming the dog has “done a tactical sick” or is “acting strange,” and you need to keep an eye on him.
It is a fabrication. The dog is fine. You are using a healthy animal as a social shield because you lack the courage to admit you prefer the silence of your living room to a crowded bar.
You feel a brief flash of guilt, followed immediately by the deep, private joy of a cancelled plan. You put the phone face down and stay exactly where you are.