Complimentary Nuts

Pam: Have you ever been insulted in a way that could actually be taken as a compliment?

Ann: Okay…you’re going to have to explain that one.

Pam: Remember Patty? You met her on the trip to Kansas. She was the pretty lady who worked at the reception desk.

Ann: The one in the flowered dress? She’s a little older, right? Creeping up on fifty…

Pam: That’s her. But she’s fifty-five.

Ann: Wow! She looks great.

Pam: I think so too. Anyway, we were chatting on the phone yesterday and she told me that a guy really insulted her by asking her if she was expecting a baby.

Ann: Oh no! I can’t believe any man would make that mistake! I’d be crushed.

Pam: Yeah, at first she was upset that he thought she looked fat. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized it could actually be taken as a compliment that he thought she was young enough to even be pregnant.

Ann: Hopefully she took it in the good way if it helped her feel better. So have you ever had an insult that could be a compliment too?

Pam: I guess so. At work the guys are always saying things like, “You never know what’s hot on television”. They’re accusing me of being out of touch with pop culture. The thing is, they’re right. They mean it as a dig, but I consider it quite a compliment. How about you? Ever get insults that you consider flattering in some way?

Ann: My ex used to always tell me that my standards are too high. Coming from him, I considered that a compliment.

Pam: Well obviously he was wrong…you married him didn’t you?

Ann: Let’s not go there….More often I have it happen the other way around—where a compliment feels more like an insult. Like when someone says, “Wow, you’ve lost a ton of weight!”

Pam: Yeah, I never say that to people because it’s just saying, “You’re not as fat as you used to be.” When I see someone who’s lost a lot of weight I usually say, “You look terrific!” They know what I mean.

Ann: I know people who have actually perfected the art of the backhanded compliment.

Pam: My mom is the all time master! I’ll never forget when my grandmother asked my mother what my husband-to-be was like. My mom paused, looked up, hemmed and hawed a bit, and finally came out with, “Well…he’s a hard-worker.” As if she had to struggle to think of anything at all and then that was the kindest thing she could think to say.

When I called her on it she feigned surprise and told me, “Whatever do you mean? It was a compliment!”

Ann: When I first thought about dating again after my divorce, a friend set me up with a guy she knew. While we were at dinner he said to me, “Dating pretty, young women was fun for a while, but now I’m glad to be out with a woman who’s intelligent instead.”

Pam: Yeah, too intelligent to go out with him again. A guy at work actually said something similar to me. I always say ‘please’, ‘thank you’, ‘would you mind’, and ‘when you get a chance’. Well, this guy tells me, “That’s what I like about you. Pretty, young women are always so demanding. You older women who can’t rely on your looks are always so polite.”

Ann: My most recent favorite backhanded compliment came from the father of one of Hannah’s friends. When he picked the girls up I was in the garage installing a new garage door opener. I was still at it when they came back several hours later. He said, “Wow, you’re very persistent. Most people would have given up and called someone competent by now.”

Pam: You don’t do so bad for a hard-working woman who can no longer rely on her looks.

Ann: Oh how sweet. You’ve become so extremely polite lately.

Pam: Oh shut up.

Epitaphs To Die For

Pam: My Aunt and I visited that Funeral Museum in Houston. It sounds creepy but it was actually really well done. When I heard about it, I imagined some sort of weird, dark, roadside tin shack. But it was a nice building with marble floors and classrooms for mortician school lectures and everything.

Ann: Hold on…I’m still back at Funeral Museum! You’re kidding right?

Pam: No. There really is such a place and it’s surprisingly interesting and educational. They have all these gorgeous ebony, horse-drawn funeral carriages and lots and lots of displays with historical documents from the funerals of famous people.

Ann: What on earth would possess you two to go to a Funeral Museum?

Pam: Curiosity mostly….and the ever present quest for great conversation starters.

Ann: Or stoppers!

Pam: Oh come on. Admit it, you’re a little curious. They had an amazing collection of unusual tombstones.

Ann: Unusual shapes or unusual epitaphs?

Pam: Both.

Ann: I doubt the ones they have could top the ones I’ve seen in real life. There was one that said, “Here lies an atheist…all dressed up and no place to go!”

Pam: I saw one just outside Savannah, Georgia that said, “Only the good die young”.

Ann: That’s not so unusual. In fact, it’s kind of sweet.

Pam: It would be, but the guy was ninety-seven when he died.

Ann: There must be quite a story there.

I read a book a long time ago and I barely remember the plot. But a middle-aged woman was having a midlife crisis and was contemplating her own epitaph. She wanted, “The nut is gone, the shell remains.” I’ve always loved that one…

Pam: Loved? Okay, you’ve got to go to the Funeral Museum! They have books in the gift shop filled with unusual epitaphs.

Ann: Now I know you’re kidding. A gift shop?

Pam: Of course, it is a museum after all. I bought Bret a souvenir t-shirt that says, “In dog years I’m dead”. And I bought myself a fridge magnet that says, “The only difference between a rut and a grave is the depth”.

Ann: Get me a ladder quick!

Vintage, Antique, Or Just Plain Old?

Pam: When I was in Wichita I was killing time in an antique mall. I hate to admit it, but I ran across half my childhood toys there. It made me feel pretty old.

Ann: Don’t even talk to me. I’m older than you are. Seeing my childhood toys in an antique shop isn’t nearly as bad as what’s happening to my body. Yesterday I discovered that going bra-less pulls all the wrinkles out of my neck. Talk about depressing!

Pam: Oh, you’re being dramatic. It’s not that bad.

Ann: It is! I swear these days it takes me twice as long to look half as good. Getting older is the pits.

Pam: I don’t care what happens to the outside of me. It’s the inside of me that’s falling apart. In the last few years it takes me longer to rest than it did to get tired.

Ann: Hey, you still paint the town red on occasion.

Pam: Yeah. But now I have to wait a lot longer before I can apply a second coat.

Ann: Kind of like my make-up. My energy isn’t what it used to be either. But at least you still want to go out. I really look forward to a dull evening at home.

Pam: An older man at church told me that he knew he was officially old when he realized he didn’t care where his wife went as long as he didn’t have to go with her.

Ann: I think I realized I wasn’t young anymore when I had a big party at my house and the neighbors didn’t even notice, much less complain.

Pam: Well this is all quite an adjustment for me. Didn’t it bother you when you realized you weren’t exactly young any more?

Ann: I don’t know. Some people think getting older means you've outlived your enthusiasm. But I think of it as mellowing. I’m definitely much more patient.

Pam: I’m more patient too. But not because I’ve mellowed; I just don’t care anymore. But don’t tell anyone, okay? It sounds pretty pathetic.

Ann: You don’t have to worry. Your secrets are safe with me. I’m old. I can’t remember them anyway.