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From The Realm of Bad Judgement: There Are Some Things You Just Don’t Say

March 27, 2011

Now, I’ll admit that I’ve said the wrong thing more than once. We all have. Some times you think you’re being funny, and it turns out you really aren’t. This happened to me the other night. Only it wasn’t me doing the talking.

I was at a bar with a few old friends from junior high playing catch-up. Both of the women I was with are personable, strikingly beautiful and, of course, thin. In other words, they are my polar opposites, but I like them anyway. We were joined by another school friend, Scott, who likes to kid me on a regular basis. He frequently sends me Facebook messages that I don’t quite get, but they are meant to be silly. He really doesn’t mean any harm, and I know this. A while back my youngest sister, Helen, joined us at one of these little soirées. Scott was agape at how beautiful my sister is, and kept going on and on about how he was in love with her. Whatever, I blew it off. He’s not the first to point out how beautiful one of my sisters is. So, at this most recent gathering, I wasn’t too surprised that he was, again, going off about my sister’s beauty. Until he said: “Your sister is so gorgeous. You must have been adopted.” Yeah. Take a minute to let that soak in.

So, sure, I know he was kidding and didn’t really mean to hurt my feelings, but really it didn’t matter. It still stung. It still does. There are certain things you just don’t say to a woman. You don’t tell her that her ass looks fat in those jeans, you don’t tell her that you like her better without a moustache, and you don’t tell her that her sister/best friend is prettier than she is. You just don’t.

Now I’m not fishing for y’all to tell me that you think I’m all kinds of pretty. I’ve got Dave to tell me that. It’s what he gets paid to do. I know I could use to lose a good 40 pounds. I also know that I have more hair on my lip than I do on my eyebrows on any given day. It is not a surprise to me that my tits are sagging, I’m the one who has to hoist them into a bra each morning. It’s abundantly clear to me that if God has graced me with 2 more inches in height, I’d be perfectly proportioned. I know my sisters are pretty, and in many ways may be prettier than I am. I know that many women dress better than I do. Prada beats Target every time in the fashion wars. I’m a middle aged woman and I’ve got miles on me, I wake up to this each morning. What I’m tellin’ y’all, and the Scotts of this world in particular, is that every woman on the planet is well aware of her faults and limitations, and we don’t need them pointed out to us.

Now I’m not a saint, y’all know that. I’ve been judgemental of other women all my life. I notice their flaws. I count the dimples in their cellulite. I wonder why they thought that outfit was the look that was going to work for them today. I look at their muffin tops* and think “There but for the grace of God and a dozen doughnuts go I.” I just don’t say it out loud to their face. And neither should you.

Sometimes it’s better to just shut the fuck up.

*Yes, the Oxford English Dictionary has added Muffin Top to the official English lexicon.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. Susan Mitchell permalink
    March 28, 2011 4:43 am

    Oh hell yeah. All I want to hear is how lovely I look or how brainy I am or how funny my jokes are. I don’t need to have my flaws pointed out. If you are about to blurt out something that is less than flattering remember those four little letters: STFU. Or Surly will write about you. And you don’t want that.

  2. Chris Brown (not the felon) permalink
    March 30, 2011 7:42 pm

    Some times we read stuff, smile, and move on. This one struck home because twice in my life I have made comments that I would give anything… anything, to be able to take back. One I made when I was 24, the other when I was 31. One time I thought I was being funny, the other time I thought it would make the person I was with think I was cool. I will never forget them and never forgive myself for making them.

    Neither was to girls, fortunately. Or I’d be dead. I pity Scott.

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