The other day I had a long drive up to West Hartford, CT with Gary to see one of my favorite friends in the world. On the way up we decided to stop in some little off-the-beaten-path town that was so small it was totally devoid of chain restaurants and institutions like Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts. We were excited about that, actually, so we headed to the only little place we could find open: Sal’s Pizza. Upon entering we found ourselves face to face with the owner, a generally happy looking man, ready to order one of the best medium pizzas of our lives. I approached the counter, put my hands down, and said “I think we’ll take a medium margherita.”
Pizza Man (looking down at my hands): Medium it is. Nice ring! You look too young to be getting married.
Me: Thanks (beaming smiles about the age comment).
Pizza Man: How old are you, anyway?
Me: 27 (still smiling).
Pizza Man: Oh, you’re not that young.
[ insert long sigh here]Then it occurred to me. I’ve been getting left-handed compliments my whole life. I, in fact, might just be the queen of them. I remember my grandmother saying things like “your hair looks great like that, if you’re trying to be Diana Ross.” Or my favorite was always, “sure, those shoes are nice… if you want to look like a hooker.”
What about you? Comment with the best ones you’ve gotten 🙂
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