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 and John Lennon who said, "Being honest may not get you a lot of friends, but it will always get you the right ones."

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 (take note, I didn't say ugly), but I'm probably the only one who told her (might I remind you, 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, fills another with confidence. For example, if when someone tells me they think my shoes are strange, it makes me like them even more (both the shoes and the person).    

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 of paper to make a pack of notecards, but you can't buy just half. When asked if I liked her selections I told her they left me unenthused. As is often the case, 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 unused dainty, daisy designs.

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 (pink) to think I'd just found a new friend that doesn't say everything through rose-colored glasses.  

Looks like it's time to get together with Vale again and I know just what I'm going to wear. I can only hope she's as attentive to my good butt jeans as she was to my pink walls. And if her answer doesn't suit me I'll look to Lennon again and hopefully realize that the time has come to 'let it be.'

 

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.