I usually don't set out to lie to children, but sometimes when I sense a particularly naive one, well... I just can't help it. My 8-year-old cousin is a perfect example. He just makes it too easy. A few years ago, Alex legitimately believed with his whole heart that his uncle came to this country from Cuba on the back of a bull shark. Can't make this stuff up, people. Just within the past month, I have convinced him that I only brush my teeth once a week and that Justin Bieber is a convicted felon. Oh, and I may or may not be responsible for him singing along to Rihanna's "We Found Love" replacing the lyrics with "we found love in a homeless place."
Why, Chelsea? Why do you find joy in fibbing to children? Oh, I'll tell you why. I was once the victim of such psychological abuse. When I was about 6, my aunt convinced me that I was hatched from a chicken egg. During that same timeframe, she had me believing that I had a rare genetic disorder called "the green tongue disease." It's a vicious cycle, y'all.