No, He Can’t Win
March 24, 2006
Rob got dressed this morning and came downstairs.
“How do you like this outfit?” he asked.
“I think you look hot. I really like that belt, too.” I answered, looking up from my computer.
“Why? What’s wrong with the belt?”
“Nothing. I like it.”
“But, why did you mention the belt? Does it make me look fat?” he asked.
“Uh, no. I said I like it.”
“But you mentioned my belt specifically. Is there something wrong with it?”
“What the hell is your problem?”
“Nothing. I’m just trying to show you what you do when I give you a compliment and you pick it apart.” he answered, all proud of himself, like he had pointed out something insightful of which I was not aware.
“Hmmm, I like how your shirt is puffing out like that. Is it blousing out over your belt, or is that your stomach?” I asked.
“Huh?” he asked, looking down at his shirt.
“Do you mean for it to look like that? Not that there is anything wrong with that…” I said to him.
“What?” he asked, growing increasingly alarmed and confused.
“Nothing. I’m just trying to show you what it is like to be the receiver of one of your compliments. And I use the word compliment very loosely.”
“I have so much to learn.”
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