A guy walks into a bar and orders a beer. The bar is empty except for him and the bartender, but as he drinks his beer he hears a voice say "That sure is a nice tie." He looks around but the bartender is way at the other end of the bar, and he's alone. Shrugging, he keeps drinking his beer, when he hears the voice again. "Say, you look like you've lost weight. You look great!" Freaking out a bit, he whips his head around to see if anyone has snuck in. The bar as before is empty, and the bartender is still far away. Turning to his beer again, he hears the same voice: "That haircut really suits you!"
Ready to find the trickster, he angrily turns to the bartender and says "Hey, come here." The bartender walks over, and the guy says "I keep hearing this voice tell me that my tie is nice and that I'm losing weight...what gives?"
The bartender nods, pointing to the bowl of nuts in front of the guy, and says "Don't worry, it's the peanuts. They're complimentary."
I realised a horrible thing a long time ago, and it's haunted me for a long time. That thing? The fact that you cannot compliment a woman. Why can't you compliment women anymore? Almost every time I make a sincere attempt at making someone's day, or try to appreciate someone's looks I get a wide variety of smirks, snarls, disgusted looks, excuses, and a whole gamut of needless comebacks. It's rare as hen's teeth that I get a gracious smile or a demure "thank you." WHY?
See, I'm the sort of guy who would prefer, ten times out of ten, to see a makeup-free face, freckles in a spray across cheekbones and shoulders, and the smell of sunlight and fresh air in her hair rather than an airbrushed perfectly symetrical face, makeup applied by a small army of attendants, presented like a vase under glass. When I see a woman who has that 'commercial' beauty it makes me think of very expensvie surgeons grinding down cheekbones, inserting plastic chins and cutting away excess skin, when beauty that is natural and home-grown is infinitely preferable. A smooth expanse of Barbie doll hard stomach reeks of days spent vomiting up lunch, while a round expanse of belly with the occasional stretch mark has for me all the hallmarks of life and reality. So is it that I'm complimenting the women who least expect it? Because ordinarily I wouldn't cross the street to look at a store display pretty girl.
So what's the answer? Beats me. All I can suggest, ladies, is that next time someone approaches you and tells you that you look nicee, or that your perfume is particularly suiting, or that you look fetching in your new frock, look them straight in the eye and say, with quiet grace and demure voice "Why thank you."