For my many complexities, the simple constant in my life is I say it as it is. I live by a simple rule; to respond honestly and from my heart and I ask for this in return from my small group of nearest and dearest. So, ‘you look like a prostitute’ was a perfectly acceptable retort from my pal when I questioned her if my dress was revealing too much cleavage. On her suggestion, I duly added to my ensemble, an over the shoulder boulder holder style camouflage. Her candidness is noted and always greatly appreciated.
So today’s question of the day, how many of us really want to hear someone else’s truth or opinion? And are there more acceptable doses of this honesty drug available to be dispensed before a cyanide effect occurs? Kaboom!
I love hearing other people’s perception of what they believe to be the truth and their subsequent opinions, in fact it’s a necessity in my life, as I get confused with yes equals no but maybe type people. If you can teach me something, then I want to hear from you. And frankly I love chattering so much, I’ll probably listen to you even if you have Muppet like opinions, but forgive me if I choose not to hear you. (I now need to illustrate my point by diluting it with some Aqua Seltzer like clarity.)
You all know I hold a special place in my heart for The Donald and I admire his brazen business sense. But his flaxen mop of heavily lacquered comb overedness does little for me other than bring me out in a fit of giggles. Would I ask him for hair advice? Negative, although commercially I’m thinking a Trump hair academy would fill a gap in the fancy dress market. Nor would I ask any of the cast from TOWIE to edit the grammar in this blog. ‘..Ay great innit like…’ The former I may ask about his business prowess and the later I’m thinking fake tans, promiscuity, lack of integrity and compulsion to be famous whilst being devoid of any evident talent. (Although hats off to the lot of you, I love your shows.) My point being, different folks offer more relevant opinions than others. Innit.
Now here’s my conundrum. Must I extend poetic licence in certain situations to avoid peeing on another’s bonfire or am I permitted to say what I feel when asked a direct question?
If you’ve the motivation, have a think about this situation? My friends dress looked like my son has haphazardly splattered paint all over it via his peachy little bottom. In fact scratch innocent Pierce from the equation, if Donald Trump’s Boeing 757 rolled over my foot and I then decided to toe paint, imagine the scene. Not some designer’s finest creation. ‘Do you like it?’ she asked gleefully ‘..I’m wearing it tonight..’ I responded genuinely, ‘..Err no. But you always look beautiful whatever you wear, so you’ll look great.’ And I meant it from the bottom of my TKMaxx styled heart. Yet her face dropped like a premier league footballer’s boxer shorts infront of his less significant other half and I immediately sensed I’d offended. Ugh.
To say I was confused is to describe the hunch back of Notre Dam as visually rewarding. So here’s my first lightbulb moment: If I call you, I want to speak and probably chew the fat with you. If I text or email I want to get to the point and keep in touch. If I ask you a question, please give me your answer. Black, white, yes, no and I’ve bought this ethos through to my newly complicated life. Yet it seemed my lovely friend has been taking lessons from the original Mrs. yes but no but, maybe Vicky Pollard. Essentially she was asking me a hypothetical question, a question not requiring an answer. She was looking for validation and reassurance vs. my opinion, hence the disappointment when I delivered my Judge Judy style opinion. Such complexity confuses the hell out of me. Why not ask me for reassurance and validation and I’ll happily deliver it in bucket loads?! Truth and honesty is simplest yes but no but maybe?! Onwards.
With my patience firmly back in tact and my love for my friend always available I continue this exploration of others opinions and start to think about George Clooney, the official God of men. Sorry women. I love George’s honesty. He’s put it out there, his bottom line. No marriage or babies, this is his truth/opinion/deal, he will not settle for anything less which I’m assuming in this instance, less would be a legally binding contract and a couple of ankle biters. Sorry, Elisabetha and your article about wanting babies and a family, but the writings on his wall in Lake Como and if you struggle with understanding his American words, use Babel fish. Parlez Anglaise?! The man has a live $40k bet with Michelle Phfeiffer and Nicole Kidman, he won’t marry or have cooing Clooney babies. (Hey did anyone read the footnotes about men?) I don’t like to think of any other human, animal or goddess suffering, but surely she’s a dose of self-inflicted delusion? George spelt out his needs and wants, loud and proud, yet still Miss Hottiebottotie ends up in tears. Do you think Elisabetha needs to appreciate others also have an opinion and it aint just her way or she’ll be out on the proverbial highway? Second lightbulb moment (particularly for any Elisabetha types): Everyone has their own personal dream and quit with the controlling behaviour. Way too complicated.
So isn’t the moral of, my way too long winded, terribly convoluted tale: If we’re honest and genuine with our opinions and feelings, life will become a whole lot simpler. (Unless you date an Elisabetha) What do you want? What do I want? A simple starting point scholars. Less heartache, more laughter and joy! Bring it on in beach bucket loads. Although judging by the recent images in the Mail, where Elisabetha is pictured propelling her being from offa Sunseeker yacht into the aqua marine coloured Med. and into the arms and lips of her devilishly handsome ex. She appears to be getting over it and it seems is much more comfortable about George’s honest opinion’s. Sweet.
And now I’ll close with a KISS to you from me. But mine involves no tongues, hot ex’s or super yachts, just a short message:
Keep It Simple Stupid.