What makes people lie?

Yesterday we went skiing with a fellow I’ve known over the years we’ve lived in Park City. As we rode the lifts he couldn’t stop telling us his life story. Among other happenings, he said he made a trip by boat from America to Europe in 1947 when he was a young boy. Later on that afternoon we casually exchanged our ages and after telling mine, he said that he was 58. I thought I misunderstood and asked him to repeat; he immediately confirmed it. A few ski runs later, as he was still explaining his saga on the chairlift, the sailing adventure to Europe resurfaced. Once more, I made sure that I had the date right, namely 1947; after he validated it, I told him that even tough I wasn’t a math major, the numbers didn’t quite add up. He couldn’t be 58, but more like 65 years of age; an awkward pause followed and he somehow managed to elegantly evade the topic. At that point, I had absolutely no reason to trust one bit of his entire afternoon narrative, including his college degrees and other exploits. I would have understood if that behavior had come from a kid or a lady, but not from a man like him, I just couldn’t believe it. Why are some grown men still acting like Pinocchio?