Another option for Captain Awkward #1352

Captain Awkward #1352:

Dear Captain Awkward,

I (they/them) am single, live alone, and have been working from home throughout the COVID situation – the long-term isolation has been really hard. During the last year I took up fishkeeping, which has been really great for my mental health.

But then I developed something known in the hobby as “MTS” – multiple tank syndrome – in which I, well, started to go a little overboard with new fish tanks and fishes. In addition to the assortment of tanks in my actual apartment (basically one in every room, each with different types of fish), I set up a “balcony tub” with floating plants and rosy red minnows.

Last week new neighbors moved into my building and I guess they must have seen my balcony tub because they asked if I had fish on my balcony and…I truly am not sure why…but I impulsively lied, like, “No! Of course I don’t have fish on the balcony! Ha ha ha…”

But the thing is: I do have fish on the balcony.

The fish are very healthy and happy and I don’t think it’s against the rules (I did check the lease) – although that might be because no one ever thought to make a rule against it…

Anyway, I have no idea why I lied other than like…maybe the built-up isolation of the last year and a half, and some internal sense that keeping fish on your balcony was Too Much, and therefore in order to not seem Super Weird to my new neighbors I should keep that under wraps? (Don’t ask, don’t shell!)

But now I feel even *more* awkward and way weirder than if I’d just been like “oh yeah those are my minnows!”

I lied about having fish on the balcony, and I clearly do have fish on the balcony.

In the past I’ve had good relationships with my neighbors. Is there any way I can salvage this truly awkward introduction??

Thank you in advance for your advice. I don’t think this question has been addressed before.

All best,
A Fishy Neighbor

 

As Captain Awkward points out in her answer, there's a strong likelihood that the neighbour has already forgotten or written off the interaction.

Also as Captain Awkward says:

Fortunately,  “I was trying so hard not to come off as weird that I overcorrected and did something objectively weird”  is an extremely relatable and common predicament, and being able to laugh at yourself (“I didn’t want you to think I was obsessed with fish, good job, me, now you think I’m a liar who is obsessed with fish! Welcome to the building!)  is the best remedy I know.

In this vein of a relatable and common predicament and being able to laugh at oneself, another option, if someone should directly inquire about the fact that you specifically said you don't have fish even though you clearly have fish, is something along the lines of "Sorry, it was an attempt at a joke that clearly didn't work. My alleged sense of humour misfires more often than I'd care to admit!"

(Q: What is the attempted joke? A: The very notion that your fishy self would not have fish on the balcony is laughable!)

Benefits to this approach:

• You aren't admitting to lying, or mentioning that you lied as if it's no big deal. Some people are extremely prescriptivist about lying and think that if someone lies at all ever, they're intrinsically untrustworthy. There are also people who are wary enough of lying that they'd see "I told a lie because I panicked" as a red flag suggesting that you're untrustworthy. 
• Having a joke misfire is also a relatable and common predicament
• When assholes make a joke that misfires, they tend to double down and/or blame the audience for not getting/liking the joke. In contrast, admitting that your joke misfired - and that your sense of humour doesn't do the job as often as you'd like in general - is a sign of humility and strength of character. Wouldn't you think positively of someone who genially admits that their joke didn't land and moves on?