Ah, to tell or not to tell.
My friend Nancy and I used to call them “Everybody’s lookin’ at me” moments. That moment where you’re walking through the sushi bar and all heads turn to look at you. Damn! I must be looking cute. Cause everybody’s lookin’ at me. Then you sit down and realize that your fly is wide open and you’re wearing safety orange underwear. Not that I would have any idea what that’s like.
So I’m walking behind this gal on the way to the train. She’s got the jeans tucked into black, high-heeled books look going. And a big, fat white price sticker that flashed like a strobe light with every step. Do I tell her? I had a couple minutes to figure it out before we got to the platform. And it truly is figuring. Some people are grateful of being informed of the fly open-price tag-booger on the nose-toilet paper out the back or your pants situations. I had a boss who informed me after a week of employment that the code for a slip showing below the hem of her skirt was “There’s snow down south.” And I was encouraged to use it. Other people get kind of offended when you point out a wardrobe malfunction. They can get a little huffy. It’s a small percentage, but if you’ve ever had it happen to you, you can be kind of gun shy of pointing out the slight faux pas. Personally, I suffer that “AAARGH! Why didn’t anyone tell me!” moment. I’d always rather know.
And I’ve been known to leave the occasional tag on for bragging rights. Like tying the 12 point buck to the hood of your car. “Look! $9 at Ross!” Then I lift up the bottom of my foot to prove it.
All things considered, I decided to bite the bullet, and let her know about her tag. Sisters gotta hang together. She knew. She just couldn’t get the tag to come off. And she must have paid too much, because she didn’t even show me the bottom of her foot.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
I also would want to know. You did the right thing.
Thanks. I'm always afraid I'm being a nosey buttinsky. But I guess if most people want to know, the not want to knowers are just going to have take a seat on their huffy bike and just pedal away.
Definitely TELL - I get very mad when I get home and see I had lipstick on my teeth (or some such) and NO ONE I previously considered my friends told me.
For those who get huffy, they need to take some exlax or valium -- someone is trying to HELP you, not point out your flaws. Ingrates.
Usually, when it's lipsick, I'll tell, plus show the trick of how to never get lipstick on your teeth again. Always good for a laugh. And, word to the wise, never do that one in a bar. You'll be very popular for all the wrong reasons.
Post a Comment