My post-ideas queue has long included "spotting deceptions." Now, I don't claim to be able to infallibly sense when someone is hiding something from me. Far from it. I just claim to be better than average at this dubious discipline. Integral to success, I think, is precisely that you shouldn't think you know anything for certain.
"I think there's a 30% chance he's lying about his promotion," I'll begin, and then I'll employ the scientific method, testing my hypothesis in order to make that number go up or down.
It starts with flags. Over the years, I've developed a list of favorite red flags. Tells, if you will, that have withstood the test of time. I'd love to write about it. I just can't. It's like publishing a How to Deceive John manual. I'll share one red flag, though, because it's on my mind.
I truly hope that soon, the Biographical Name will fail me for the first time. This is when a woman consistently includes the nature of their relationship in the name of a man. Curtis One of Our Clerks was my first. That was his full name. He worked with my girlfriend, who never failed to call him Curtis One of Our Clerks when she referenced him. I thought this funny. "Is that his full name? Ha, ha." I didn't know.
There have since been other such names, all applied to men. Somehow females never rate the repeated inclusion of biography in their names. I've come to realize that any given biographical name translates to "the guy with whom I will replace you." (Hello, Rich Who I Consider a New Friend. I sure saw your ass coming up Lakeness Rd.) The biographical name is intrinsically defensive. And defensive is intrinsically suspicious.
I'm pretty sure that when Dorkass mentions me to Frank Frank, she doesn't feel compelled to say "my former boss John" or even "my friend John." She probably incorporates the word "dickless" in my name, but that's offense, not defense.