Taking Every Fake Promise Literally

I was born without the ability to decode polite social lies.

When I was eight years old, an older neighbor patted my head and chuckled, "Such a good boy. If only you were my son."

That very evening, I packed my little battered suitcase, knocked on his front door, and asked in earnest, "Which room is mine, sir?"

When I was ten, I gave my classroom desk mate a birthday present. He demurred, waving his hands with customary bashfulness: "Oh, come on, I couldn't possibly take this from you."

I reached out and snatched the box right back. "Fine, if you don't want it."