I let my friend take the blame for a broken window at our school because I threw the baseball that hit it.

I told my boyfriend I lost my memory card from our vacation. I didn’t lose it—I just saw what was in his deleted photos folder.

I told my mom I lost her tupperware, but I actually dropped it down the apartment garbage chute by accident.

I intentionally applied to a company just to see how low their salary offer would be, and they actually met my demands.

I found a lost designer wallet, took the cash out, and mailed the empty wallet back anonymously.

When you mention your family, I get defensive even though you mean no harm.

My old yearbooks sit gathering dust in the garage, filled with signatures from people I will never see again.

I deleted my Facebook account because seeing people my age buying homes made me too depressed to function.

I still have the very first note you slipped into my locker in high school tucked away in my passport holder.

My wife thinks I lost my wedding ring at the beach. I actually dropped it down the drain while trying to clean it in the sink before our anniversary.

I’ve been sleeping with my former step-brother for eight months. Our parents got divorced two years ago, but we still have to pretend we barely speak at family events.

I secretly love eating the burnt, crispy edges of brownies and throw the soft middle pieces away.

My husband thinks I’m an angel who saved us from bankruptcy. I’m the one who secretly spent $45,000 on luxury designer bags using his secondary business card.

A car stole my parallel parking spot after I waited with my blinker on, so I put a note on their windshield written in lipstick.

I eat raw cookie dough despite the warnings because living dangerously is the only thrill I get on weekdays.