Women lie. It’s as simple as that.
A man might walk up to another man and say, "Wow, you’ve lost a lot of hair since I saw you last!" or "I think you’ve put on a few pounds in the past year, right?"
Women don’t want to hurt someone with the truth.
If a woman asks, "Do you like my haircut?" we feel obligated to think of something good to say. Even if she shaved her head and dyed the other half purple with orange spikes, we feel we have to say, "It’s so CUH-UUUUU-ET!" or "It looks so good on you!"
In my early 20’s, I was studying the Bible and was convicted about being honest with women, no matter the cost. I couldn’t lie to make someone feel better about anything in their life, especially their sin. So, I asked the Lord to give me gracious boldness to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
In the bathroom the next Sunday morning, a friend caught my eyes in the mirror and asked, "What do you think about my makeup?"
Instantly, I knew the Lord was providing an opportunity to test my conviction. I paused and she prompted me for an answer. The color didn’t match her skin tones and was so bright, it stood out in an unattractive way. Very quickly I blurted out, "I think the lipstick is a little too bright."
Like I’d slapped her, she pulled her head back, opened her eyes wide and said, "The lipstick is the same, I meant the eye makeup."
I mumbled something complimentary about the eye make-up, which was attractive, encouraged her to choose a lipstick that matched those tones better, not backing down from my original statement of truth. When we parted, I felt we were still friends, but I was pretty sure she’d never ask my opinion again.
Since then, I’ve had too many opportunities to speak the truth, but I’ve learned to be more graceful and tactful.
(snipped from Dictionary.com)
People don’t always want to hear the truth.
Asking "How are you?" can be a social obligation, not a friendship-building moment of intimacy.
I try to be honest. I feel like a liar when I answer "FINE" but I’m not fine. It’s the socially acceptable answer, but it isn’t always true, and twinges my conscience. Not everybody wants to hear the true story, but I don’t want to lie.
Going through cancer, I soon realized many don’t want the whole story, some don’t even want the highlights. Discerning when to vent and when to give the expected answer was a necessary coping skill. But, part of me rebelled. I wanted to ask, "Why do you ask how I’m doing if you really don’t want to hear the answer?"
I re-tried my honesty is best policy when the grocery cashier asked how I was doing. I said, "Not too good, I’ve had a headache all day." She was stunned into silence. She was so silent, it made my husband uncomfortable.
"Why did you say that?" I explained my new honest policy and he said, "Well, maybe you didn’t have to be that honest." He understands the awkward "how are you" dilemma perfectly and wanted to spare me future pain from my honesty.
Another time my honesty policy had a negative effect I was going through cancer treatment. Someone asked empathetically how I was doing, and I thought the scepter to speak was extended, so I offered a few stresses of the current situation. When I saw him fidgeting, losing eye contact and edging backwards down the stairs, I knew I’d gone too far. I reeled in the rest of my sentence and sincerely thanked him for asking.
The other day at Costo I was very tired after trying to navigate a full cart through a packed store. Navigating the big cart with the perpetual wayward wheel is always hard, but insomnia and nerve damage in my arm make it more challenging. The damage is not a physical 9 on a scale of 1-10 with pain, but a gnawing ache that fatigues. I don’t quit Costco when I’m done, I quit when I’m tired. The too cheerful clerk came over and began helping me load the groceries onto the moving conveyor belt. Thankful for the help, I snagged the light items and left the heavy items to her youthful strength.
I knew it was coming.
I battled emotionally within. Truth or lie? Truth or lie?
"How are you doing?"
I opted for honesty. "I’m tired," I said as I lifted a tiny thing of cinnamon instead of the case of black beans.
Her smile increased. "Well, that’s good."
I was too tired to be offended. Maybe she had a lot of her mind. Maybe she had personal struggles. Maybe she was suffering from insomnia. Maybe, maybe, maybe I shouldn’t have been honest.
I waited for the second test from the exit door attendant, a white-haired man with one of those friendly mustaches that smiles.
While counting the items on my receipt and the items in my cart, he asked me, "How’s your day, dear?" My emotional sensory detector was still on stun mode so I lied. "I’m fine." He checked my receipt, looked me full in the face and said warmly and sincerely, "Have a nice day, dear."
Two strikes. I told the truth to someone who wasn’t listening, I lied to the man who would have cared.
For the rest of the day, I argued with myself through this spiritual and emotional dilemma. Tell the truth or tell a lie.
"It’s not really a lie if I say FINE when I am tired or have a headache. Spiritually I am always fine because It Is Well With My Soul."
Then I waffled the other way, "It’s not the truth because I am not fine. And, maybe people would learn to listen if I always answer truthfully instead of offering what they expect to hear."
With the hymn humming through my soul that day and the next, I came up with my new truthful answer that wouldn’t bother my conscience.
The next time someone asks, “How are you?” I will answer,
"I am well!"