On being called a liar

What annoys me …

… is being called a liar.

Three examples.

Number One

We’d just moved into our new house in the UK. By new, I mean the next one, it was actually 1930s.

The next day, seriously, the very next day, a couple knocked on the door. Were they offering tea and biscuits or ‘welcome to the street’?

No. In fact, their house backed onto ours, so they weren’t in our (rather better) street.

They wanted us to chop our trees down that overhung their garden.

Gee! Yes! Of course! We haven’t even fucking unpacked but we’ll get the chainsaw out right now just to suit you.

No wonder the previous occupants of our house wanted to move.

But, being overly nice as usual, Partner did as requested later that week.

A week or so later, Knock Knock.

I answered the door.

It was the Carping Couple again.

‘We came and asked you to cut your trees and you haven’t done it yet.’

So which huge branches (that we would have liked back actually for firewood) did you miss in your back garden? Huh?

I had previously remonstrated with Partner for getting wound up about their initial request. But …

‘He has cut them.’

Carpies started arguing.

‘Don’t call me a liar. Fuck off.’

Door slammed in faces.

I then understood why Partner had been annoyed with them.

Number Two

We had been in Gibflat a few months.

A knock on the door. Yes, another Knock Knock.

‘Can you stop your dog peeing on the staircase?’

Eh?

If, he had, and he hadn’t, we would obviously have cleaned it up with bleach.

What was annoying here was a) the assumption, based on no information, knowledge, or actual witnessing, and b) thinking we would have not cleaned up had it happened.

These accusations went on for a while. He threatened to report us to the leaseholder. For something he couldn’t prove.

Partner suggested he check out if there were other animals in the block. He did. There were. To be honest, it was unlikely to have been animal pee as our dog showed no interest in it. It could just have been water.

But what absolutely arsehole behaviour.

He eventually conceded it wasn’t our dog. Not before his wife, and I, managed to tone down what was getting into a very heated conversation.

Thank you so much, prick of the first order.

Number Three

This weekend. And yes, another dog story.

A block in our street has been refurbed. Mostly offices, but a couple of flats. A couple drove onto the kerb.

‘Can you stop your dog peeing on my step?’ demanded Mr Imperious.

Said dog pee was a waterfall. Snowy is a small dog. He does not pee waterfalls.

Why do people who know stuff all about dogs make such crass assumptions?

Why do people have nothing better to do in life?

‘I have more respect for my neighbours than to allow that,’ said Partner loftily.

‘You’re not my neighbour,’ said arrogant shithead.

‘Yes I am,’ and Partner walked slowly over the road and into our block.

Because, unlike Ms Two degrees, journalist, editor, health service assistant director, my partner is working class with a skilled craft trade. And he looks it. Stuck-up bastards don’t expect him to be able to live where they do.

So not only did he make an erroneous assumption, and accuse Partner of being a liar, he added in a typically classist insult too.

And they should clean their step more often. That solves the problem.

But, to return to the point. We both hate being called a liar. I heard the raised voices in the street. I knew there was a problem. It took Partner hours to calm down. I understand. Because I hate it too.

It should be simple. Innocent until proved guilty. Don’t jump to conclusions or assume. If you get it wrong, apologise. None of the three above did.

Just don’t go there in the first place. Life is too short.