I know someone who claims to hate all stories because they’re embellished, exaggerated. Not true. Just elaborate lies.
She’ll have her mud puddles pristine, thank you.
Never mind that the experience of splashing in one has always been more about a feeling of freedom than wet dirt. It’s the fun, not the mess, that matters. And, yes, most of us will lie about how the mud got on our shoes if we don’t think the real story will be appreciated.
“There was this mud puddle, a really great mud puddle, that was just begging for someone to give it a good splash . . .”
“I don’t know. The mud just got there!”
On the other hand, my friend is right. With a little imagination, who knows what a mud puddle might become . . . a fantasy of lights maybe.
Of course, that’s another story altogether.