Help me out, please; I’m treading on wafer thin ice here. Your wife, girlfriend or significant other squeezes into a new dress before you head out to her tedious annual company Christmas party. As she glances back at her ample caboose, she cautiously asks you the dreaded question that sends quivers down the spine of men, “Does this dress make me look fat?”
Think before speaking, comrades. Do you answer truthfully is the only question? I’m still a little perplexed on the subject of total honesty in all cases, or staying out of harm’s way by telling another little white lie.
This past weekend I attended a small birthday party for a neighbor woman turning 80. During a conversation with the birthday girl’s son, I noticed he had three or four very long disgusting hairs growing out of each nostril. As he babbled on about his world travels and how amazing and unique his three kids were, I kept glancing at those dangling hairs wondering why in the world he didn’t just trim them. I assumed he had to notice his nose weeds in the mirror each morning. I’m sure if he looked in the mirror and saw a chunk of Skippy peanut butter dangling on his cheek, he’d wipe it off, right? So cut the freaking hairs, please! And where’s his wife, kids, co-workers and friends when you need them. Somebody step up to the plate and tell the dude to take ten seconds tomorrow morning and clip those curls.
After a few glasses of wine I was slightly tempted to softly whisper in his ear, “Buddy, do yourself and me a favor and trim that bush conspicuously growing out of your nose!” Honestly, wouldn’t I be doing him a huge favor in the long run? Shouldn’t a person be pleased when informed of a personal bodily malfunction of any kind? If his nose were bleeding everybody at the party would be running to his aid or offering advice to help alleviate his condition. So what’s the difference between a nose bleed and nose hairs? Look, if I have something, anything on my face or any part of my body or clothing that shouldn’t be there, tell me! I want to know right away so I can correct it before I get home at night. And I believe most rational people feel the same way. Kids, bless their innocent souls, will tell anybody anything at any time. “What’s that red bump on your chin mister?” or “You smell like stinky fish dad!” or “Why is your nose so big Uncle Bill?” They exhibit unrestricted, total honesty until they are taught the cold, hard realities of the real world. I believe a child’s loss of innocence begins with the shocking discovery that there is no Santa Claus. That’s the moment the light comes on in their mush-filled minds, wow, mom and dad have been lying to me for all these years–I guess it’s okay to lie. Welcome to the twisted world of grownups little Johnny. Buckle up son because it’s going to get a little tougher out there from now on. Another awkward, sometimes nauseating situation is being around someone with nasty body odor, affectionately known as BO. A family member is easy, just tell them they stink and to go take a shower. However, a co-worker, friend or random stranger is a little trickier. I had another brilliant idea while on my morning run a few days ago. How about requiring soap manufacturers to print warning labels in large letters on their products stating: For maximum effectiveness use on ALL portions of body! I would even mandate they have a human figure on the box, with arrows pointing to critical areas…enough said. Apparently some folks were never taught the proper way to shower or, worse yet; really don’t give a flippin’ fig what they smell like. I feel much better being able to share this delicate topic with someone. I am well aware that most of us are never going to go out of our way to point out distressing body malfunctions or disturbing clothing flaws. It’s simply much too stressful for the average Joe to deal with. Maybe we, as a society, could develop a simple signal or a formal universal gesture, much like the military salute, to alert these innocent victims that there’s something amiss.
How about the next time anyone spots a woman with dried up, crusty nostrils, or a gentleman with pizza-sized sweat rings under his arms, we raise our middle finger to their face…oops, that’s already taken. I’ll give this a little more thought and get back to you.
