A Genetic Thing

I think women are born with a gene that makes them try to always make everyone happy, even if it means fudging the truth just a little.  When presented with a drawing by a child, a woman will respond with "What a beautiful tree!  Oh!  It's a picture of your mommy?  Of course, it is and she is beautiful."  When asked for an opinion on a friend's dress, she would of course say, "I love the color.  It brings out your eyes."  She would never say, "That style makes you look ten pounds heavier."  When presented with a baby, he is the cutest thing you've ever seen, even if you do think he looks just like his grandfather and that's not a compliment.

All day, every day, mothers everywhere are telling little white lies.  "Your hair looks really cute that way.  Very stylish."  Not, "Well, it will grow out someday and look decent again."  They look their teenager in the eye and say "It's such a tiny spot on your face that I don't even notice it.", instead of "Oh, my.  It looks like a mountain between your eyes."  When their daughter is complaining about how their jeans fit, every mother will assure her that they look wonderful.    They aren't big lies but we are constantly careful about the truths that we tell. 

Now explain to me why men can't do the same thing?  What is it that compels a man to offer his own brand of truth, regardless?  Upon seeing his wife's new dress, he will offer, "Didn't they have a bigger size?"  If presented with his daughter's question about how her slacks look will wonder "Is that the only color you could get? "  How many men have commented "do you really like that?" when shown the new color for the bedroom.  I always want to respond "No.  Actually I think it is a horrid color, but they were paying people to take the paint."  Why else would I have picked that color and why weren't you helping when I was showing you color chips!!

My hubby is no exception to this rule. My mother loved hats and wore them regally.  Early in our marriage I decided to wear one of her hats that I had kept  to church.  It was stylish and really looked wonderful with my outfit.  I carefully arranged it on my hair, proudly got in the car and we rode to church.  I felt so elegant and dressed up.   Just as we pulled into the parking lot and were ready to leave the car my husband looks over at me and says, "You aren't really going to wear that into church, are you?" 

It must be a genetic thing.