My momma taught me how to take a compliment. Now mind you, I haven’t always been the best at it, but I like to think that when someone says something nice about me I smile sincerely and accept their praise just like a “lady” should.
Regardless of what my mom tried to teach me at a young age, as I got older I realized how irritating it was to tell a girlfriend that they looked great only to have them come back with some stupid nonsense about how they’ve gained 10 pounds and their hair is a mess.
Just. Say. Thank you.
Really, it’s not that hard. I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t mean it, so don’t make me feel stupid for being nice to you.
So I try not to ever put anyone in that position. If they think that I look like a pile of hotness and are brave enough to tell me, I thank them. And depending on who it is, I might skip away gleefully that they even noticed that I had actually bothered to brush my hair AND my teeth on the same day.
All of that said, there is one “compliment” that I flat out can not stand.
This “compliment” will send me into a blind rage that mimics the fury of a tiny hungry baby plus t-rex trying to pick up something off the ground with his wittle baby arms all smashed together. It makes me angrier than when my husband withholds sex. Or when I’m not allowed to drink.
This is ANGRY people. A-N-G-R-Y.
Have I built it up enough? Are you dying to know? The so-called “compliment” is this:
“You’re not a bad looking girl.”
You might be surprised how many times I’ve heard this. I wish I could stereotype who-the-fuck says that kind of thing, but sadly, it seems to be prevalent across every demographic of the male population. I’ve got it from the old toothless bastards wearing denim overalls in public. I’ve received it from men who were attractive enough that I actually considered dating them. The garbage man, the dude that repaved my drive way, a swim instructor I once had, and countless others have felt the need to compliment me by telling me I’m “not bad looking.”
For any of my millions of followers (ok, so there’s 200 of you and I love you as if you were millions) who don’t get it, let me explain.
I can handle cat calls. I can handle whistles or honks as I’m running or riding. I can even handle skeezy men at bars attempting to grope me before I break off their fingers. These men are at least trying to show appreciation for how attractive I AM… not how unattractive I’m not.
So I’m not bad looking. So what? Doesn’t mean I’m good looking. I could be not bad looking, but instead grotesque and hideous and oh-my-god-are-you-contagious?
I could be not bad looking because holy-shit-you-can’t-even-look-directly-at-me-without-your-retinas-burining-out-of-your-head.
I could very well also be not bad looking as I am actually quite attractive and damn it if you’re not trying to hump my leg while you’re standing here talking to me.
If the latter is the case, go with the attractive part. It leaves little to the imagination, and is actually a nice thing to say.
You’ll get a genuine smile and a thank you, even if I’m at the same time feeling around in my handbag for my .22 just in case.
But if you find me hideous and are just trying to think of something to say because you can’t possibly keep your mouth shut, keep your mouth shut. I really do carry a .22, and even T-rex could figure out how to get his puny arms into my purse if properly enraged.