I received my best compliment of the year already and it’s only January. I’d been railing for a full hour to a friend about work, love, politics. Then I mentioned as a grumpy aside that I’d been taking dance classes “all year.” “Well,” I corrected myself. “One class anyway. Yesterday.” “What kind?” she asked, finally interested in something I had to say. (I couldn’t blame her; I was being terribly boorish.) “Tap,” I answered. “See?” she said. “That’s the thing about you. You act like a grouchy grownup but you’re wearing braids and striped socks and corduroy gauchos, and I heard you singing Hair songs on your way into my apartment and the kind of dance you’re taking is tap. You’re a cute person who doesn’t admit she’s cute, which makes you cuter.” Of course I’m repeating the story here, which is not especially cute. But all in all, a great compliment, one that says more about my friend’s generosity of spirit than my own alleged charms.
I received my best compliment of the year already and it’s only January. I’d been railing for a full hour to a friend about work, love, politics. Then I mentioned as a grumpy aside that I’d been taking dance classes “all year.” “Well,” I corrected myself. “One class anyway. Yesterday.” “What kind?” she asked, finally interested in something I had to say. (I couldn’t blame her; I was being terribly boorish.) “Tap,” I answered. “See?” she said. “That’s the thing about you. You act like a grouchy grownup but you’re wearing braids and striped socks and corduroy gauchos, and I heard you singing Hair songs on your way into my apartment and the kind of dance you’re taking is tap. You’re a cute person who doesn’t admit she’s cute, which makes you cuter.” Of course I’m repeating the story here, which is not especially cute. But all in all, a great compliment, one that says more about my friend’s generosity of spirit than my own alleged charms.