This week: Stop giving advice. Just the unsolicited kind. No, wait, all kinds.
I broke a dear friend’s heart over the weekend. I’m not proud. I wish I had kept my mouth shut.
Me: Did you have a good time in Vegas?
“Bob”: It was off the chain. I met a stripper. I think she really likes me.
Me: The stripper? Did she say that while she was on the clock?
“Bob”: Yeah, but she says I’m different from the other guys. Her name is Cinnamon. She had to take my number because she doesn’t believe in phones, so she’s going to borrow someone else’s to call me.
Me: Who the fuck doesn’t have a phone these days? Did you give her an extra big tip?
“Bob”: Yeah, but I think she really likes me. Wait, do you think she….nah, nah, she said she really….I could tell by the way she….oh.
“Bob’s” face fell and he spent the rest of the night on our couch with his head tilted back, eyes closed, heaving an occasional sigh.
It became apparent with each new sigh that before our needlessly cruel conversation, he’d already imagined picking out his rent-a-tux at the local Men’s Wearhouse.
I tried to apologize and backtrack. I gently punched him on the shoulder and said that I was just jaded and bitter because none of the strippers I had ever met had called me. I asked about Cinnamon’s interests and life goals.
“Bob” told me that she wasn’t a professional stripper. Instead, she was working her way through medical school. Which was weird, he said, because the last three strippers he met were also working their way through some kind of graduate program. “Bob” then deduced that strippers, in general, must be a very educated bunch. He admired their astute financial sensibilities for working their way through school rather than incurring any debt.
I didn’t say anything.
Ever given advice instead of holding your tongue? Ever held your tongue instead of giving advice?
image via frankticmeerkat shop @ etsy.com