This recent column at the Times suggests that fibbing – or exaggerating the truth, rather than inventing a wholly new fiction – is way easier to do than lying, and way less stressful on the body and mind and soul.  I know, I know.  The legalist in me wants to say that fibbing is lying, no matter how close to the truth.  And that’s true, strictly speaking.  But it happens, and it happens more than lying, and it’s easier to do.  So, come clean: what have you fibbed about this week?  I’m thinking.  Let me think.  Ah, yes.  I fibbed to my wife about the color of paint she chose for the new baby’s room.  It’s called “Pale Daffodil,” and is a plain yellowish hue.  She asked, last night, if I liked it.  I said yes.  I don’t hate it.  But it does look a little plain, a little too much like the color of an elementary school hallway.  But I didn’t say that, because I don’t care.  And if I had said it, she’d have spent another week looking for paint and painting – and she’s pregnant, and she needs to paint and be done with it.  So, I fibbed.  Did you?