Things Not to Say to Me
A collection of unrelated comments that have raised my hackles in months past.
“You poor thing.” As Gina Gallagher put it, “We don’t want you to feel sorry for us; we want you to be compassionate. Compassion and pity are quite different. Compassion says to a person, ‘I feel your pain, let me take some of it away from you.’ Pity, on the other hand, says, ‘Wow! Your life stinks! I wouldn’t want to be you!'” Pity is not helpful.
“You could kick my ass.” I’ve had several guys tell me I could beat them up. It’s obviously meant as a compliment, but – ugh. What kind of beast are you implying I am? Also, what kind of wuss are you? I’ll be frank: I want a guy who could kick my ass. Not a guy to whom the thought would occur. Of course not. But a guy who, yes, is capable.
“You’re so brave.” Living the life that you have to live is not bravery; that’s living.
“I can catch up tomorrow night; Jane’s away on a business trip.” It’s simply classless when people preface or append an invitation with the information that their partner’s otherwise engaged. And yet it happens all. the. time. Of course you want to spend your scarce free time with the person you love the most; it’d be crazy if you didn’t. That’s not it. It’s the ghastly rude frankness with which you point out the second-best-ness of the situation.
“I don’t know how you do it.” I don’t know either.
“It’s the good cancer.” Don’t. Just fucking don’t.
This purge of queue-cleaning rapid-fire posts is largely unedited. I’m not sure if that’s for the best, but that’s the way we’re rolling.