Emily Post Would Be Proud

My thumbs and I were locked in a searing debate earlier this week.

They were just itching to break one of the best-known rules of etiquette (and woman law, for that matter) via text.

From what I can recall, the argument went something like this:

"Girl, just ask her.  A quick text will do."

"No!  That would be soooooo wrong, and not to mention tactless and against all of the good southern manners that I was taught."

"Whatevs.  You saw the evidence."

"I'm going to need you to fall back.  She might have been having a bad day."

 "Having a bad day doesn't explain the lack of a relaxer.  Let us do our jobs."

 "Stop it!"

"You know she always talked about how she was heavily relaxer-dependent, and there are other signs."

 "I know, I know, but that isn't enough to justify asking THAT question.  There could be some hurt feelings.  I remember when an older, jealous cow cattily asked me the same question during the second semester of freshman year...yeah, I had probably gained a few pounds, and still looked good in my newfound thickness, but I wanted to stomp her.  She got an evil staredown and the frostiest 'No' that's ever emerged from these lips."

 "And?!  You've known this chick longer than you've known almost any of your other amigas in the city (well, not including those that you excommunicated for legitimate friendship sins at one point or another, anyway).  You've seen each other in some pretty hilarious and less than ladylike situations, so there shouldn't be any need to suddenly resort to royal protocol and tiptoe around the possibility of such a wonderful milestone in her life.  If the answer is no, you can laugh about it later."

"'Less than ladylike situations?'  I have no idea what you're talking about...those photos were 'accidentally' deleted, anyway.  My decision is final.  If my hunch is accurate, I'm sure she'll tell me soon enough.  It may be too early in the 'process' to even discuss the issue.  No need to act like the love child of Nancy Drew and Easy Rawlins for confirmation."

 "If you say so.  We're here when extreme curiosity finally overwhelms tact and you change your mind."

Her girl should have told her...

Shouldn't all really tight friendships be able to survive moments of brutal honesty?

I've had this discussion with a friend of mine countless times over the past few months.  These convos were in regard to her inability to stand up for herself and let another friend know about her unacceptable behavior (e.g., berating her for her sense of humor, refusing to accept her choice of man, etc) and how it affected her.

Speaking for myself, I'd rather you tell me to my face (or via e-mail, if preferable and more expedient) that something I've done, worn or said is completely out of bounds.  As long as you keep it ladylike and civil, we're cool.

If you see a major flaw in someone's appearance, behavior or natural aroma, chances are, others have too.  If she's really your friend, you need to tell your girl.

I was out and about this weekend, enjoying the sunshine, spreading love and whatnot, and came across a friend of a friend with a prominent mustache.  I understand that there are drugs and hormonal problems that  lead to unfortunate hairiness, and sometimes, it just can't be helped.  But her girls should have nicely told her to get that waxed before she went out in public.

I'm not being mean--God knows I have my flaws.  She had nothing to be ashamed of.  I'm directing all of my ire at her so-called friends for their complicity with her upper lip.

We are always slow to see what the mirror sees.  I wish my friends in my college days had spoken up around my junior year and told me that my thighs were growing out of control and that I needed to hit the gym on the regular.  Things are much better now, but their speaking up would have spared me the cellulite that came home to roost in my late 20s. 

Sometimes, I wonder if people let their friends go out looking crazy so that they'll be the hot one in the group...

Regardless, a kindly delivered dose of brutal honesty is a good thing.
Example:  We all talked about a stinky biracial sister on our hall during freshman year.  She was nice enough, lent me her Fiona Apple CD, but she was ripe with a capital R.

One of my friends just couldn't take her funky visits anymore.  She had an honest talk with her in private and let her know that she needed to use some stronger deodorant.  The girl had no idea.  She thanked her, and the b.o. disappeared.

The truth doesn't have to hurt.  Tell your girl, and save her some embarrassment.