“C’mon, how much you making these days?” he’d ask. “C’mon. How much? Just tell me.”
And then: “What kinda car you driving these days? C’mon, tell me. Tell me.”
My first reaction? “What difference does it make? Why is this so important to you?”
But eventually he’d wear me down, I'd wince and tell him.
It happened every six months or so – much later, I realized he’d only call after receiving a raise or promotion, or after getting a new car.
It always was important to him to know where he stood in relation to me – a twisty little competition he’d created between us since childhood that was mostly amusing but occasionally downright irritating.
We don’t speak much anymore. I’m not sure why.
But I don’t miss the competitive aspect of our relationship at all. And I wonder how happy he is, constantly measuring the 'things' in his life against others.
To me, the better questions have always been: What have you been up to? What is new? What excites you about your life? How’s your family? How are the kids? How's work?
If you’re going to count anything in life, it ought to be your blessings above all else.
Right?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
What’s the rudest question anyone’s ever asked you? And how did you respond?
Beyond the whole salary/vehicle thing, here are a few more of my favorites:
Are you pregnant?
How much did your house cost?
Is that your real hair color?
How about a blow job?
Are those your real boobs?
Are you a professional?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Are you a professional? Why is that rude, Hedy?
Well. I was in a club. Dancing.
"HEY, that GUY just asked if I was a PROFESSIONAL," I yell to Nelson over the music, beaming proudly, thinking the dude meant professionally trained dancer.
"STRIPPER, Hed. He thought you were a STRIPPER."
Oh. Right. Rude.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am listening to: Everything Counts – Depeche Mode
I am reading: Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine
And I am: Counting my blessings
5 months ago
7 comments:
I've asked you most of those questions. So, is this blog about me?
But, I've been asked the exact same questions! I'm never going to the "Gay 90's" again.
Girl-"you didn't just do, what I think you just did...did you?"
Moe- "uhhhhh........sorry"
Girl-"that's 10 inches?"
Moe-"Yeah...it is!.... And don't ever ask me that again"
Girl-"hey...what's your friends name?"
Moe-"it's Dan... And he's had more c*ck than YOU!"
"Are you happily married?"
Churchy tightly wound up not getting any and happy about that prude of a woman outside my sons vacation bible schoo and church: "So, if you're Christian, and your husband is Jewish, how do you manage that? How many times do you pray for him in hopes that he will realize the right path of religion? Do you even pray about that?"
Brooklyn born Orthodox Jewish Woman at a Jewish Wedding after being introduced to me by my mother in law: "You're the one from Illinois, right? From that real churchy town? Now, you are raising the children Jewish, right? After all, your mother in law is so involved with your children, it would be a shame to disrespect her like that. So when are you enrolling them in hebrew school?"
Two very different people with two very similiar rude ass questions based on religious differences.
Very frustrating.
Let someone else judge for goodness sakes.
You know people are so quick to put in their two cents about people having relations with people of a "different kind," of how difficult life is for interracial couples, interfaith couples, blah blah blah..
maybe it wouldn't be so difficult if people like THEM would shut the hell up!
*jumping off soapbox now*
My father was fond of the question: "Are you sure you're lying?"
Go ahead, answer that one!
It's akin to "Have you stopped beating your wife yet?"
And for you stripper aficionados: the 'professional' comment happened more than a dozen years ago and more than three dozen lbs. ago.
Pos: Yikes!
Crusty: Amazing story, thanks so much. What's worse, is that both comments constituted bigotry masked with 'genuine' concern for your boys. Unbelievable.
And welcome, Kengall!
Yeah. That was a female co-worker. The sister of the boss. The thirty-year-old-and-desperate sister of the boss.
My one employee I managed was the baby brother of the boss. Every time he screwed up, I handled it wrong. I was too lenient. I was too harsh. Never just right.
Wanna guess how long I lasted THERE?
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