Let’s try to not be so honest today | AspenTimes.com

Let’s try to not be so honest today

Alison BerkleyAspen, CO Colorado

So I was having lunch with my friend Jeremy the other day and he goes, “Falling in love with you would be like having nails driven through the palm of your hand.”Jeremy is many moons older than me and is sort of like my mentor. He’s a very accomplished writer who holds a Ph.D. from Harvard, has traveled all over the world, and is way too brilliant for his own good. He’s also what you might call eccentric – has his own breed of humor that is lost on most people.Luckily, it’s not lost on me.”What do you mean?” I shrieked, dipping my gourmet biscotti into the frothed milk on my cappuccino. “I can’t believe you’re saying that!” I told him I thought I was pretty lovable.”I didn’t say you’re not lovable. I said falling in love with you would be like falling in love with a junebug.” He used elaborate hand gestures, as he often does, to better illustrate his point. “You’re all over the place, all the time. It would be like falling in love with ten different people.””Are you saying I have multiple personality disorder?” I replied, shooting a dirty look at the people from the next table who were now visibly gawking at us.This was all in the wake of our conversation about me going to yoga school.”That is absurd,” Jeremy said. “No one is more poorly suited for that than you.” He said he thought the idea was very funny. “I’m sure you’ll have a lot to write about, at least.”Well.We all know that being honest is practically my MO, but it seems I can dish it out better than I can take it. Like I told Jeremy, I do have a keen sense of humor about myself. I realize I’ve set that precedent by broadcasting my various opinions for the whole world on a weekly basis. But lately, it seems like everyone’s been laying it on a little thick.Like the other day my friend Marlene said she thought my hair was orange. I’ve been getting my color done in Steamboat because it’s literally half the price, but like my mom always says, “you get what you pay for.”The Steamboat hair lady is a bit flighty and has the tendency to chatter on about her kids and he favorite place to get “peel ’em and eat shrimp.” Somehow, she manages to squeeze phrases like that into a single sentence so many times it makes you cringe. (Oh, they have the best peel ’em and eat shrimp ever! You have to go there for the peel ’em and eat shrimp. They have great fries, but the peel ’em and eat shrimp are even better,” and so on and so forth.)She’ll also do that sneaky hairdresser thing where she’ll try to squeeze two clients into one session, cutting someone else’s hair while my color is processing.That’s exactly what she did when she left the carrot top toner in my mullet for a little too long and left me looking like Little Orphan Annie for opening night on Broadway. What part of “make me blonde like Marilyn” didn’t she understand?”You asked me if I thought your roots were orange, and all I did was say yes,” Marlene said when I brought it up for the umpteenth time. “Jesus. Get over it, already!””Well, at least I know you’re being honest,” I said, rolling my eyes.Speaking of eye rolling, my mom is the queen of the sharp delivery. Since it’s so convenient to blame her for just about everything (Love ya, mom! You’re the best!) I’m pretty sure I inherited the “lack of tact” gene from her. Part of the problem is my mom is always right. This is especially true when it comes to things I don’t want to hear.Just last week, I was up in Steamboat and my mom and I were really getting on each other’s nerves.”What’s with all the eye rolling?” she wanted to know. “Why are you acting so regressed?””I am NOT acting regressed!” I replied, rolling my eyes in precisely the way she taught me, eyelashes a flutter.It’s like she knows I’ve been hanging out with this crew of 20-something friends (OK, one of them is 34, but whatever). It’s as if she can sense I went out almost every night last week, like she knows that we do stuff like get wasted and engage in a full-on butt-slapping fest on the dance floor at the Belly Up. (That got so out of hand that the band mentioned it between songs and someone complained to the management about our “inappropriate behavior.” The whole spanking thing is a long story I’ll have to save for another day). Needless to say, I guess mother really does know best.Then I’m getting a facial and the cosmologist chick is like, “do you want me to wax all that hair off your chin?” That was after the extensive commentary on how congested my pores are during the most painful “extraction” session I’ve ever experienced. (That’s when they pop all your zits with rubber gloves and leave you with swollen red spots where the whiteheads used to be. And for some reason, I pay a lot of money for this).It’s like, yeah lady, I know I have a beard and bad skin but I’m paying you to fix it, not talk about it. Yes, mom, I am trying to find a way to resist the whole aging process that doesn’t involve plastic surgery. Sure, Jeremy, the idea of me going to yoga school is sort of funny but believe me: The time and money that is going into this is nothing to laugh at.I’m not so sure honesty is the best policy – unless, of course, it’s coming from me.The Princess wants to know if she looks fat in this. E-mail your thoughtful response to alison@berkleymedia.com.