STORY TIME, BUTTERBUTTS.
Gather ’round. (Bonus points if you’re wearing pajamas. Bonus points times infinity plus one if your pajamas look like this.)
You know those girls who wear cute, color-coordinated spandex outfits and full faces of makeup to the gym, lightly puffing along their super speedy treadmill while they flip through their Glamour magazine, finally stepping off exactly 30 minutes later and tastefully dabbing at that one lone bead of shimmering sweat elegantly trailing down their neck?
I am not one of those women. I’m the one nursing a leg cramp after sprinting too gung ho around the track, wearing a hole-riddled Jurassic Park t-shirt, flushed tomato red, and clutching a stitch in my side. (Especially now that I’ve decided it’s time to make my body look less like I eat Pop Tarts every day for breakfast. Step 1? Stop eating Pop Tarts every day for breakfast.)
But aaaaaanyways. As I hauled my exhausted body through the exit and stepped into the cold air, an older woman walking in with her neon green tennies and matching terry cloth towel lightly touched me on the shoulder. I looked up hesitantly, because hello, my hair was plastered across my sticky forehead and my leggings were riding up my ass crack. Like, way up. Also, butt sweat. (Enough said.)
And when I finally made eye contact, she smiled this huge genuine smile that warmed my tiny, grinchy heart, and simply said, “You are absolutely gorgeous.”
Now, I’m no Wicked Witch of the West, but it’s not every day someone delivers such a sincere and unexpected compliment. It made my entire day. Nay, my entire week. (And totally gave me a legitimate reason to say nay.) I felt more creative in my writing. I felt more focused in my work. And I felt more confident when I slid on my slinky black dress to go to a gala on a mediocre date with my mailman.
And all it took was one woman having the guts to stop a stranger on the sidewalk and spend ten seconds of her time.
It got me thinking. Why is it that we’re so much quicker to judge people, mutter mean things about their waitressing skills or tight jeans or loud laugh than to tell them something nice? Why are the bad things the first details we point out?
So, in the spirit of Chrismahanukwanzakah gravy boats full of spiked eggnog, I have a proposition for you. (I’m totally raising my right eyebrow deviously.)
Let’s all decide to be a little less nasty and little more kind.
Isn’t that a novel word?
Kind.
Now, I’m not talking about Mother Theresa type shit. Mostly, I just think we can all handle being a little less assholey and a little more…wonderful. If we all make a pact, to once a day reserve the time it takes to tie our shoes and offer up a genuine compliment to someone in passing? We can brighten like eighty gajillion days*, you guys.
*General approximation.
You have the power to make your tiny corner of the world a better, happier, sweeter effing place.
And besides, Santa Jessica insists. (Jessica Santa? Jessanta?)
And what Jessanta says is law.
Who can you call up and compliment? What compliments have you gotten that made your whole day? Gush in the comments, and let’s all roast marshmallows over that warm, raging glow of people being just the nicest.