There’s something going around. I’ve noticed it in others and myself. This mysterious affliction doesn’t affect many men, but it’s a huge mega problem for at least some of us ladies. The affliction is this: an inability to tell the truth, or “tell it like it is.”
Picture this: A guy arrives at the office, wearing what looks like a pajama top with little cowboys on it. His buddies say:
“Does that come with a teddy bear and a glass of warm milk?”
“Dude, are you five years old?”
“C’mon, buckaroo. It’s time to go to the meeting.”
The shirt triggers all sorts of tell-it-like-it-is fun: His buddies sing cowboy songs and swing pretend lassos whenever he walks by. It’s all a huge barrel of laughs for everyone. Guy realizes shirt is ridiculous, never wears it again, and secretly thanks his friends for keeping it real.
Now picture this: A woman arrives at the office, wearing what looks like a pajama top with little cowgirls on it. Her friends say:
“Ooooh, I love your shirt. It’s so fun.”
“It’s different, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“You have such a unique style.”
Woman now walks around all day wearing atrocious shirt and wears it several more times because everyone “liked it” so much. She becomes unfortunate butt of office jokes (told behind her back, of course).
I’ll be the first to admit that I’m guilty of the second scenario. I would have complimented cowgirl shirt. I would have lied and said “That’s a fun top!” But why? Why can’t I keep it real? Guys do it very well, this good-natured, this tearing into each other in the name of telling it like it is. And it doesn’t come off as mean. So what gives?
The thing is, I want to tell the truth. But for some reason, I don’t. Instead, I start spewing out compliments. Like when a friend posts an awful picture of herself. You know the kind: the extreme-close-up selfie where you can see up her nostrils. And instead of just “liking” it or better yet ignoring it and moving on, I write “Beautiful!” or “Stunning” or worse, a bunch of fire emojis.
Not long ago, my boyfriend told his coworkers that he was getting new prescription glasses (which was true). He returned to work the next day wearing a ridiculous pair of glasses with thick frames and thick lenses the diameter of a tea cup. (I think he found them in a hotel room or something.) With these ridiculous spectacles on, he walked into the kitchen where a group of his female coworkers were gathered and asked –
“How do you like my new glasses?”
The women looked up, stared at him in stunned silence, then the gushing ensued:
“Oh my gosh, those are nice!”
“Stylish!”
“Good choice!”
And so on.
Adam laughed an incredulous laugh. “Liars!” he said. He whipped off the giant glasses and slid on his new, normal-looking ones. “These are my new glasses!”
The women laughed awkwardly, knowing they were totally busted. Now, I can pretty much guarantee that if he’d pulled that stunt on his male coworkers, they would have told him the truth:
“Dude, those glasses are ridiculous. What were you thinking?”
I don’t really understand why we feel the need to lie. I mean, I sort of get that we don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or come off as meanies. I’m just saying that pretending to like ridiculous eyeglasses or a poufy purple bridesmaid dress or your friend’s awful haircut or her annoying boyfriend—it’s exhausting.
Personally, I’m going to take some baby steps toward self-improvement. No more sugarcoating. The next time Jillian from accounting asks me how I like her oatmeal raisin cookies (um, yuck), I’ll just say, “Meh, I just don’t care for raisins,” instead of the obligatory “Oh my God. Wow. PLEASE. GIVE. ME. THAT. RECIPE.”
