Mark Twain once said: “I can live for two months on a good compliment.“
Maybe he could live a paltry two months on a compliment, but I can live off one for eons.
If you once told me something awesome about myself, I still remember it. No lie. In a world where a gal’s self-esteem can be trampled over and over again (thank you women’s magazines for showing me heroic chic is the only way to look), a good compliment is a renewable feast.
The other day, I was picking up something at the pharmacy (the stuff that makes my tummy NOT feel like a barrel of burning monkeys but can cause bone loss, goody) and was told I have a lovely complexion.
The reason why I’ll remember that compliment?
Because I was sweaty and tomato red from the heat (yes, if it’s 25 degrees and over, I look like a beefsteak tomato).
Truth of the matter is, I don’t really do much about my complexion except scour the grease off every now and then. In the winter, I put on some moisturizer so my skin doesn’t flake off into a million little pieces.
Other than that, I avoid the sun like the plague, don’t smoke, don’t drink, and probably consume more than enough fat to keep my skin plump until I’m 107.
Oh yeah, and I sleep lots too (read: no kids yet).
I was once told I looked like Kate Winslet. I remember that compliment well. It was 1999 and I had red hair at the time. I really don’t look like Kate Winslet (unless you count the round face) but I will take the compliment and run. (Well, walk at a moderate pace.)
Another time, an ex said I look like Julianne Moore. I really don’t though we do share a name in common. I must have had red hair at the time too.
FYI, I really don’t think I look like any celebrity. Mostly because celebrities are never over 130 pounds. But it could be worse: I could be told I look like Carrot Top.
It’s odd how a gal remembers the compliments about her complexion or hair. I have a few lovely ones in writing about my writing. I really like those. In fact, I think they are a little more flowery than I deserve, but I’m keeping them. I may even frame them.
The interesting things is, do you think with the advent of Facebook, we’re becoming immune to comments? I could probably post a photo of me looking like a beefsteak tomato and someone would like it, if only because they think my head is about to explode into ketchup.
I’m sure I’ve had a lot of awesome compliments online. And I really like them. Any compliment is a good compliment.
But are they as memorable as a random comment in person?
I think not.
So the moral of this story is, I’m probably never going to get any compliments on Facebook ever again.