What Big Eyes You Have! (Mary Strand)

As I sit down to write this, I’m utterly stumped by this month’s theme: the best compliment I’ve ever received.

I have no idea.

I think of compliments as fleeting at best and sometimes awkward, uncomfortable, or embarrassing.  Did they really mean it?  Am I supposed to compliment them now, too?  And what if I disagree with the compliment?

Worse: is the compliment from a guy who’s actually being sexist and/or misogynistic, and should I take this as a good moment to leave him splattered on the sidewalk?

I do think most compliments are sincere and not given by jerks.  If a guy is wearing a cute jacket, I say so.  If a guy says my hot-pink Converse high-tops are cute, that’s sweet.  When I was practicing law, I felt the same way about compliments, even though most lawyers are pretty skittish about saying (or hearing) anything that could possibly be interpreted as sexual harassment.  I still said, “Nice tie!”  And male lawyers who knew me also knew I wouldn’t be offended if they complimented me on what I was wearing.

But, seriously, some people try too hard.  I hate false or clichéd compliments.  I love surprise ones.

I have blue eyes.  Telling me I have nice blue eyes seems a bit, well, stupid.  But saying my eyes look like ferocious storm clouds when I’m pissed is a great compliment.  (Also, according to my brother, true.)  A friend once asked if I was wearing bright-blue tinted contact lenses, because my eyes couldn’t possibly be that blue.  I laughed uproariously but actually liked that one.

 

My favorite compliment from a guy in a bar, who was hitting on me, was “You have nice skin.”  Seriously.  Who says that?  But it was original and sincere, and although I had less than zero interest in him, I loved it.

In high school I heard from several guys that the wrestling team (which practiced on a balcony overlooking the gym) voted me “best legs in gym shorts.”  I have the long, slightly bowed legs of a basketball player, NOT the cute, perfect, stick-straight legs of a cheerleader, or the general cuteness of a gymnast.  I LOVED that vote!

 

My hair is strawberry blond, which I loathed as a kid but am cool with as an adult.  It’s not dyed.  Not a single gray hair has yet hit.  [Insert pause while I knock on all wood in sight.]  Men don’t typically notice or care about things like that, but I love when a female friend compliments me on whoever dyed my hair this color, and I reply that it’s actually my natural color ... and she says, “Bitch.”  From a good friend, THAT is a compliment.

As a writer, I’ve received compliments, but I fear they’ve often been drowned out in my mind by the criticisms, so I often brush them off.  Yes, I’m told I shouldn’t do that.  I am not perfect.  I do brush them off.

As a mom, compliments from my kids are also often drowned out by the criticisms.  A few years ago, I went through some nightmarish times with my daughter, who told the whole world (including me) how much she hated me.  On a daily basis.  She was going through hell at the time, and I was a convenient and safe target.  (Yeah, yeah, my friends reminded me of this on a daily basis, too, but it still resulted in severe PTSD for 18 months.)  One night during this awful period, as I was saying goodnight to her and she said yet another truly horrible thing to me, I finally snapped and asked her if there wasn’t ONE SINGLE GOOD THING she could say about me.

She glared at me.  Silence.  A horrid, lengthy silence.

Finally, she sighed.  “You’re a good writer.”

Okay, that was my best compliment ever.

Mary Strand is the author of Pride, Prejudice, and Push-Up Bras and three other novels in the Bennet Sisters YA series. You can find out more about her at marystrand.com.