We were going on a 40-mile bike ride. But I didn't have a road bike.
"Borrow Mike's bike," they said.
So I browbeat Mike into loaning me his expensive Italian racing bike.
Less than a mile in, I was shifting gears when I hit a pothole, lost control, and smashed through a picket fence.
We tried to bend the forks so they would fit again. No luck. I went to the bike store and bought the cheapest forks they had.
"Thanks for loaning me your bike, Mike."
"Those aren't my forks."
"Yes, they are. What are you ta – "
"Those aren't my forks!"
Cornered, I told him what happened. He was pissed. Felt used, taken advantage of, disrespected, betrayed.
Our relationship was never the same after the "fork incident." He no longer trusted me.
Why should he when I was so laughably out of integrity?
If I was dishonest and manipulative with a close friend over a pair of forks, how else would I lie to him?
It can be difficult to admit our mistakes.
And even if you don't fork up as bad as I did, people can smell your dishonesty, superficiality, and shallow abuse of power from a mile away.
I bent those forks 30 years ago. They continually remind me that I always get to choose my behavior.
I consciously try to make good choices.
And I accept the consequences when I don't.