At WorkJennifer, who works next to me, asked today for my impressions of her bridesmaid’s dress (one of her best friends is getting married).
“You don’t want to do that,” I said. “Really.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because I always tell the truth, no matter how uncomfortable or personally damning it might be,” I said. “It’s kind of a curse.”
“No, I really want your opinion,” she said. With that, she pulled the dry cleaning bag off the dress and held it up. “What’s the first thing you think of?”
“Um, a wind sock?”
“Not the kind that flies at an airport,” I said. “The home variety.”
“I don’t like it, either,” she said.
“It doesn’t help that it’s watermelon pink,” I added. “If you were wearing it and standing up, I might have said popsicle.”
“I’m glad somebody else thinks it’s ugly,” she said. “See? I did want your opinion.”
“You’ll learn,” I said, returning to whatever it is I allegedly do for a living.