Truth Be Told

It's been a long time since I asked someone if I looked fat in my jeans. I can't explain why (or how) I've stopped asking, but it definitely makes life a little easier. Maybe it's just that I've finally realized no one answers those questions honestly anyway; no one except me, that is.

I was recently reprimanded for telling a friend I didn't think her dog was cute. She asked and I told her the truth. I'm quite sure I'm not the only one who thinks her dog isn't cute, but I'm probably the only one who told her. (Don't forget, she asked.) Personally, I don't think she should have been offended, but maybe I have to pay more attention to my audience; what offends one, builds confidence in another.

Last week I was shopping with a friend at my favorite Italian paper shop. She asked me to make her some stationery; a request I never refuse. It doesn't take much of a huge sheet to make a pack of notecards, but you can't buy just half. When asked if I'd liked her selections I said no and this time my honesty paid off.  I'd misunderstood that the leftover paper was a gift for me. Had I lied, I would have wound up with a bunch of dainty, daisy designs that left me unenthused.  

This afternoon a student and his wife stopped for Christmas tea. Having not seen the house before, I showed Valentina my mosaic stairs on the way to the bathroom. I'm not sure if her 'wow' was positive or negative, but what came next was clear. She succinctly said she never would have painted the house pink. Instead of being offended I was tickled to think I'd just found a new friend that doesn't say everything through rose-colored glasses.
 
You can bet your britches the next time we go out for pizza I'll be wearing my good butt jeans.

P.S. I have no answer for the attentive readers that are asking themselves why the author would dislike dainty daisies yet paint her house pink.