So today during lunch with my mother, we discussed a potential job prospect she’s considering. I wasn’t particularly talkative on the issue, even though she clearly wanted my opinion — which, by the way, might be more under-qualified for this discussion than even most 15 year olds who have held some form of employment at least once in their lives. The reason, though, was not due to a lack of expertise, because I’m always willing to give advice on issues I have absolutely no connaissance in — like speaking French, which I frankly don’t do very well. It was because I have a strong aversion to confirming what people already think, or agreeing for the sake of agreeing. It’s like when a girl insists that you say that she’s pretty to her face. There are two ways this situation can shake down:
1) You say that she is pretty whether or not you think it’s truthfully the case because you — like me — are too polite for your own good — “No, I swear, I love this feeling” — but you start to feel deep down that she’s a little too insecure for you to really be talking to as much as you are at the present moment. After this all sorts of other less pressing issues in your life begin to take a renewed importance like, “Why am I even at this party in the first place?” and “Where are my pants?” This option has the benefit of not causing her to burst into tears and/or get angry at you, which if you are anything like me, are two things you avoid because you’re afraid of real emotions.
2) You use other words that sort of mean pretty but aren’t really pretty — “cute,” “attractive,” “good looking,” “handsome,” which are all really better suited to a horse or a baby in a suit jacket – because if you are also like me you hold the word pretty in very high esteem which you would grant to very few people in the world and probably nobody you have ever met unless you are fortunate enough to be hanging around models 24/7. I’m usually not. Usually.
Sufficeth to say this is a loathsome situation because you really can’t come out ahead unless you already came out ahead when she met you — I always think about the Chris Rock segment from Bigger and Blacker: lt’s hard being a guy. We always think we can buy sex. ”lf l take her here, she’ll give me some. lf l buy her this, she’ll give me some.” Nothing get you nothing. A woman knows if she’s gonna fuck you within the first five minutes of meeting you. Women know right away. They’re shaking hands like, “l’m gonna fuck him. l hope he don’t say nothing too stupid.” — and so you do your best to avoid getting yourself into situations like this one by taking evasive measures like “Running away from drunk girls.”
I digress. I remained silent during this conversation with my mother because I didn’t really feel the need to agree for the sake of agreeing. Then, it struck me. Here was the possibility for a challenge. I should note that I cannot turn down a challenge — I live for miniature life challenges. If my life were an Xbox360 game I would have thousands of useless achievements that nerds the world over would strive for 100% completion. They couldn’t catch up — there are always more. This year I turned my life into a series of challenges. I’ve mentioned that before. If it takes me two minutes to make an Americano, I time myself to do it faster. It’s the nature of the beast, and the beast here is boredom. I realized that I could do my best to convince my mom that she was wrong and that, in fact, she did want this job. I talked about the infinite artistic possibilities, which got her immediately. Mind you, this is a woman who owns two copies of “The Only Broadway CD You’ll Ever Need” alongside a collection of twenty Broadway CDs, so she takes her arts seriously. Anyways, it sort of worked.
I get tired of telling stories in the middle because there’s very rarely an endpoint I’m striving towards. Challenge completed: arbitrarily interrupt a story I’m writing for my own blog.
I’m Brad, I never should have bought so many college shirts, and this is my little blog.
