...as a healing bruise upon an injured forelimb.
"Your hair looks nice."
"Thanks. It's actually my hat hair. I took off my hat and... yeah."
"Really? It looks really good like that. It looks styled."
"I know. That's why I just went with it. Goodnight, then."
"Goodnight."
I smile but this moment secretly destroyed me. For thirty seconds (and then the thirty minutes it takes to drive home), there's nothing else to think about and now I have a headache. Listening to the Foo Fighters doesn't help. If you're ever curious as to what it might be like to be bi-polar, listen to an entire Foo Fighters album. Seriously. It also doesn't help that I've been listening to that for two weeks now.
I need an intervention, but not for that.
You really shouldn't compliment me. It confuses me - every time. It's not that I automatically over react and assume anyone who is even slightly nice to me is deeply attracted or interested in me. No. It's also not that I doubt the integrity of these comments. Just because I have no self-image doesn't mean I don't have self-esteem. I appreciate my abilities and accomplishments; I just don't connect them back to their origin very well. I've just never been able to take a compliment. I have no idea what to do with them. I just feel even more awkward than usual. These moments usually provide me with amusing anecdotes and I have one in particular to share with you now.
During my high school production of "Come Blow Your Horn", a comedy in three acts by Neil Simon, I was having a ton of make-up applied by the director/theatre teacher. She was equally impressed, envious, and annoyed because of my lack of facial wrinkles. I was playing Mr. Baker, which was consistent with the fact that I was the only thespian who could successfully grow facial hair and was therefore typecast in every production as the father figure, but my lack of facial wrinkles was making the director a little irritated. Not to mention that all those cosmetics was making me feel less like Father Baker and more like a kabuki fatality. She did compliment me at one point and I explained my problem with never knowing what to do with compliments that I received. She immediately stopped painting stress lines across my forehead and chuckled.
"Well, then you might appreciate that I had a similar problem once. I was dating this guy. It was still during the whole interview/show and tell/whatever... You know, it was maybe date three. Very early in the relationship, but it was getting to that point where... I can't even believe I'm telling you this. Just bare with me, the punchline is worth it. Everything seemed to be going well. It really was. I mean, this guy was a masseur. Very exciting potential. Which leads us to the foot rub he offered me. Amazing. Absolutely to die for. Well, he finishes with my left foot and moves on to my right. We're making eye contact. I am in absolute heaven from those magic fingers. This is a moment. The whole night I've been looking for some sign as to how to proceed. Do I keep seeing this guy or do I move on. There hasn't been this magically connection or chemistry, so I'm thinking about calling it all off and then this happens. This moment comes and everything changes. I'm feeling something finally. And he says, "I bet you have a glorious colon." Moment, evening, relationship - all dead. Gone. Poof. I tell him that I'm not sure how to respond to that, which I'm still not. He tells me that it's a compliment and then he explains something about physiology and massage and I don't know. I pretended to understand the logic. But, I never saw or spoke to him again and I called it an early night. So... I understand not knowing what do with compliments."
I thought about that story all night while I was on stage. I was definitely in character - I was confused, disgusted, alienated. It was a brilliant performance. I recited that anecdote for the tribute video for the director/teacher at the end of the year. No one else really got it, but she laughed hysterically and so did I. People might have thought we were freaks, but we knew there were worse things to be.
Anyway... I think it's been longer than I imagined since someone genuinely complimented me. Or surprised me with a compliment out of seemingly no where. Or maybe my hair just looked amazing and I appreciate that I wasn't the only person obsessed with how naturally it could look that way.
I may never know what exactly to make of compliments or what to do with the information, but I'm getting better at faking it.
Your cleverness ferments meat without the need of oxygen.
No comments:
Post a Comment