And now, the moment you have all been waiting for. Just when I had given up the idea that someone might catch on to my little April Fool's prank, the winning email arrived this morning from Elizabeth. As a lawyer, she is no doubt accustomed to tricky word play: Elizabeth was the only one to suggest that the incorrect statement I had in mind was "One of these statements is incorrect." In fact, not including that one, three of the statements were lies.

Numerous people suggested that the last statement (that if I did not already have a boyfriend, I would want Brendon Fraser to be my boyfriend) was untrue. It is. If I did not already have Rob as a boyfriend, I would want Rob to be my boyfriend; next on the list is Matt Damon, who has been interested in me for some time. (Matt, if you are reading this . . . honestly! Are seven calls per day not a tad excessive?)

The next most popular guess was that the first statement (that I have had my body pierced eight times) was untrue. One person wrote: "I don't think you're the body piercing type." Someone else said: "I'm going to guess it's the being pierced eight times thing. At first I was going to say the being held at gunpoint by the Mexican army thing but that sounds far too likely given your nefarious proclivities."

Wrong, my little chickadees: I had my ears pierced six times, and my eyebrow twice. And incidentally, the Mexican army incident did indeed happen. Erich and I were driving across a Oaxacan desert when we were stopped at an army checkpoint. While my boyfriend waited in the car, the soldiers had me open the trunk so they could go through our luggage, searching for drugs or anything they could steal. I lived in Chicago at the time, and when they learned this, they began to make lecherous noises about how beautiful the women were in "Chi-ca-go, Illy-noise," and did I have a girlfriend? It was a pointed question, and I do not merely refer to the machine gun pointed in my direction, which inspired me to invent a buxom mate on the spot. Once they were satisfied with my description, they allowed us to drive on.

Another lie also received some attention. I was not, in fact, born in a taxicab. One snarky correspondent had this to say: "I believe #2, 'I was born in a taxicab as it rushed my mother to the hospital,' is the false statement. My reasoning is that I've always suspected you have no natural parents and are actually a manifestation of the dark side of the Force, hence your personal admiration for the Emperor. And your wicked eyebrows!"

So now I have wicked eyebrows, do I! Well just for that, I shall blast your planet out of orbit, you--

*ahem*

And one reader tried to cover all of the bases by sending in ten emails, one in response to each of my ten statements. All of them featured episodes from his own life but not a single guess as to which of mine were fabricated. Excessive messages, no matter how fascinating, do not a winner make. (I hope you are paying attention to this, Matt Damon. For the last time, I am not going to move into your Hollywood love nest no matter how many emails you send me!)

No one guessed that the last lie was Goblin's "discovery" by a pet food talent scout. Even though she struts through Central Park every day in sunglasses, a feather boa, and enough eyeshadow to paint a billboard, she has yet to have her big break.

So congratulations, Elizabeth! Your surprise will be arriving soon. And to those others who might argue that the contest was unfair, that their guesses were accurate because they might have stumbled upon one of the lesser lies, I have only this to say: APRIL FOOL!

Bwah-ha-ha-ha!