Button, button, who's got the button?

I'm at MegaConference and it's megalame - the kind of lame that reminds you of a junior high dance and the chaperons are trying to persuade the North (guys) and South (gals) to dance by dancing alone, in the center of the newly waxed gym floor. Not to their music, but to something by the Cars - and they kill it d.e.a.d.

So anyway, I see this cat saunter past with a cleverly placed lapel button, all 70's green and 80's orange. I fix my gaze on his person in a singularly heterosexual literary way in order to read said button. "Stop truth decay" it screams. Brilliant.

So while I am piling in bagels, cream cheese, warm OJ and some pseudo-eggs, I am pondering the concept of truth decay. Clever play on words, but I hope he didn't pay for that button. Truth decay.

Sticks with me all day. Truth decay. Am I doing my part? I think so.

Later on, a dear friend rings me up with great enthusiasm and a feather in her cap twinkle in her voice to tell me of the events that transpired at the HQ. And it strikes a cord of fear in me that begins some mild truth decay. No sealants have been applied so this could get ugly quick.

I stop the candy in the conversation and seek some mouthwash, to no avail, the decay continues and both of us end up running our cell batteries down, dropping a call and shedding a few sympathy tears.

One verbal/spiritual root canal later, friendship in tact, I think I stopped truth decay from spreading. But I must admit that that chap with the button has never tried to stop truth decay or he wouldn't be walking around telling everyone else what to do with a button.

Stopping truth decay is challenging, it can hurt short term, and I am never 100% certain of the outcome since my approach often resembles that of a sandpaper enema (not enigma).



But then again, what's the alternative?