The truth hurts.
A few days ago one of my more blunt friends asked me what had happened to my forehead.
Initially I couldn’t work out what she was talking about. I suspected she was perhaps referring to some unsightly pimple that had popped up overnight, or maybe my human mask was falling off and she could see my scales.
I checked in the mirror and remembered the cause of the small scar and not so small dent on my forehead, usually hidden by my fringe.
I thought about lying.
I really did.
But in the heat of the moment my imagination kept coming up with more and more implausible scenarios.
So I told the truth, “I smashed my head into a door handle during an intense game of hide-and-seek with the cat.”