A new post from the intractable, the copacetic, the marmoreal, Miss Quote. As always she’s here to answer your questions, dispense incalculably valuable literary-romance-etiquette advice, and completely change your life. We introduced her a little while back in case you missed it.
Write to her at missquotewillchangeyourlife@gmail.com.
Question from Medium Hot Ocelot…
Hey Miss Quote,
I am a lesbian, with two kids, who is single and dating. My non-binary babysitter has taught me how to go on The Apps and look for sex and love and, while this is a nightmare for those of us who were once too afraid to cut out a picture of Jenny Shimizu and scotch-tape it to the inside of our locker because it felt too revealing of our inner lives, it’s sort of working. Here’s my question: twice a week I go on a first date with someone perfectly nice who I do not want to sleep with. I am a person who tries to be nice. And so we stand there, two nice people who just took a two mile walk around a small urban pond trying to figure out how to say, “goodbye forever, I wish you well on your journey but I don’t want to have sex with you so peace out.” Mostly this feeling is mutual. But sometimes, the other person is like...can’t we be friends? I have a lot of friends. I have very limited kid-free time and I want to spend that time looking for someone I want to pounce on like an ocelot on a hotter ocelot. What can I say to these nice people, in a nice way, to make it clear that I enjoyed their company a modest amount but do not want to ever see them again?
Please advise,
Medium Hot Ocelot
Dear Medium Hot Ocelot,
You seem so nice. The kind of gal who picks friends up from the airport and tips high. I bet your pantry has the best snacks, and your house plants are flourishing.
I want to be friends with you! Nice people are so hot.
I like being nice too. It’s so much easier than being nasty.
But, I’ve also been experimenting with kindness lately. Or, thinking about the difference between acting nice and being kind… Kindness feels even deeper than nice. And it allows me to take care of myself while also taking care of other people.
Like when a student wanders into my office…. The nice thing to do would be to say, have a seat, would you like some tea? Would you like a book? Let’s chat for hours about culture and beauty. And I do do that, sometimes. But sometimes I’m very busy.
So, out of the kindness of my heart I say, “what can I do for you? I have exactly 15 minutes to chat and then I have to kick you out.” (Yes it feels like eating broken glass, but I promise it expresses love both to the student and to the (my) self.)
Nice is easy and comes in handy with strangers, telemarketers, and the smoking hot barista you hope to see--go out of your way to see--on Wednesdays in between piano and soccer. But it also involves lying. When the barista says, Merry Christmas! It’s nice to say, thank you! Because it would take too much truth and energy to say, I’m Jewish and I’m raising my children Jewish. And I hope I’m not depriving them of a childhood by not assimilating to Santa/Capitalism/Microplastics. It was kind of a hard decision, one my ex-wife pushed back on in hurtful manipulative ways. So, bitch please, meet me half way. Or, when the elderly racist uncle would like to play Monopoly on the last night of the lake house-getaway, we lie and say; nicely–sure. And we sacrifice the night to fake money, thimbles, and passive aggressive digs at our career choices when we’d much rather be sipping wine and sitting naked in the hot tub with the girl cousins. Because, truthfully, our relationship with the sexy barista and the racist uncle is just not that important. We’re just nice to them. Fake. A sugar coated sack of lies.
Kindness is the big guns. Radically honest, occasionally hurtful, and… inherently... deep(er).
You don’t have the capacity to make 50 new best friends before you find the next love of your life. But you do care deeply for these middle-aged lesbians who have put themselves out there for two vulnerable miles--with you. So don’t bother faking nice to them, be kind instead.
Can’t we be friends?
Yes. But I don’t have time. I’m truly sorry to utterly reject you, you are nice, I am nice, we are nice, and we could be friends–but I’m a parent and an educator. I have an ex-wife and a large friend group. And I’m on the prowl, which, as you know, is a part-time job. If I was 24 and childless, over-educated and underemployed, I would say, sure, I’ll call you next week on your land line. A group of us are headed to Marfa for the weekend. You’ll fit right in! But that is so not my life right now. Out of the kindness of my heart, I will not be your (bad) friend. If I ever run into you in the wild, I will give you a hug and be nice to you but I cannot meet you for a Caesar salad on a Thursday. I cannot text you fun facts and kooky gifs as they come to me. Please, take care and get the life you want.
Try it. Direct, honest.
In kind(ness),
MQ
PS: But are you sure you don’t want to bone these people’s brains out? Really? Just a little? In the back seat of the jeep? You don’t want ninety seconds of heavy petting, just to get the heart rate up? In this post-Me Too era I realize what I’m prescribing here, but…. You could have it both ways….. Just saying. To quote Andrea Gibson, “holes are holes”.
Send your queries, missives, conundrums, confusions, and delusions to Miss Quote at missquotewillchangeyourlife@gmail.com—and in the meantime, stay critical!
