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"Exaggeration misleads the credulous and offends the perceptive." ~Eliza Cook


“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.” “I have never felt this way before.” “I want to give you everything.”  “I can’t live without you.”  And other exaggerations I find horribly distracting.    

Most women swoon at such compliments…I go into mathematical equations, probabilities, statistics and of course red alert.   My attention is no longer focused on the speaker, but the logistics of the statement. 

It is impossible to follow a conversation when incredibly improbable vernacular, such as this, is flying about like counterfeit bills in a hip-hop music video.   

 I start picturing, what exactly “all the women in the world” might look like…There are approximately 3,290,000,000 females in the earth…I visually lumped us all together in a room, and I can’t get past the hormonal extravaganza, so I mentally try to line us all up…Far too many to make any kind of a distinction, let alone, crowning any of us “The Most Beautiful”  

It is said we all have at least one twin…What of them?…Even if one is  "Most Beautiful In the World" does the twin automatically become “Most Beautiful Woman In The World…The Sequel”?  

If a man would say “You are the most beautiful woman… in this restaurant. or in my car. Or that I am looking at right now. I might believe him … I think I may be fond of you or I lust you. I could follow that.  I can live without you, but I would rather not… is also something I can work with.  But, as we all know, the medical likely hood of some actually dropping dead because the other walked away is (with the exception of Siamese twins joined at the heart) implausible.

 My mind takes all this in consideration and weighs the information it receives with the facts and assess that the speaker is full of shit.  Which then trips the alarm and the deafening sound of my bullshit meter drowns out the rest of his affectionate babble…

It’s not that I don’t want to be someone’s “most beautiful woman in the world, that they can’t live without,” But if it were true, wouldn’t their actions match?  Wouldn’t he …slay a dragon (No? Too medieval?)  Defend me in a gunfight? (So early 1800’s); invite me to be part of his holiday festivities (Too soon?)  Take me to a place where his world might see us (Too awkward?). How about something as simple as announce his devotion on Facebook,‘ChuckFullofDooDoo is in a Relationship with Cindy Colombo’…(maybe he doesn’t have time with all the very important and pressing postings of pictures of his cat,) You would think if someone really loved you they would want the world, their world to know.   

If he can live without you… then he should (to quote a friend) Also, if a man says ‘he can’t’ then he should, at the very least, keep playing pretend and act like it.  (At least until he gets into your pants.)  Even if my tendency to exaggerate to men (who trip my bullshit meter) is to let them believe that they stand a chance….He started the game with lies…There would be no fun in it for me if he knew the truth.      

 I went at lunch with the gals from work.  No sooner were we seated, than a tray of Champaign and appetizers came to our table, presented by the owner, for all of us. There was also a card, for me wishing me a Happy Holiday Season…“Your beauty caused words to escaped me, and stole my courage to stand near you”.  As I turned toward the closing door to catch a glimpse of Mr. Mystery Poet, all I saw was a silhouette of a man walking away as he buttoned his coat.  The owner of the restaurant said. “That was him.  He doesn’t want you to know who he is, yet.”  This classy act gave me no time to follow the exaggeration and get lost in the lack of probability.  I was focused on the secretive man leaving the restaurant.  His actions matched his words.  As silly as this may seem to most, the freedom to enjoy a complement with matching action was generous gift from a stranger.       




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