Ask At Your Own Risk

I’ve said it before—I’m a pretty honest person, and I don’t understand the point of lying.

To be a good liar, you need to remember what you told people. Since I have an incredibly limited short-term memory, that’s a problem for me.

And always telling the truth is not ideal.

I mean, no one wants to hear, “No, your beautiful baby will not grow into her nose.”

Or, “Yes, that haircut looks like it was inspired by Willy Wonka’s Oompa Loompas.”

To my way of thinking, if you’re wondering about something enough to ask for someone’s opinion… you probably already know the answer.

If I think someone is unprepared for my answer, I’ll ask if they really want to know. But that response is usually a pretty strong indication of which way I’m leaning.

For me, the alternative—white lie response—isn’t very convincing. I tend to giggle and/or blush when I try to lie. I also make weird faces, and suddenly I have no idea what to do with my hands.

For example:

“Is my baby’s nose unusually large?”

Do you really want to know?

(Translation: yes, it’s even larger than you think it is—your “Mommy filter” is making it look smaller.)

White lie:

“Oh, wow… yeah… hmm, I don’t know. Her nose isn’t too big—her head is just tiny.”

Neither of those options feels like a response that actually soothes a new parent’s concerns.

Or:

“Does this haircut make me look like an Oompa Loompa?”

Do you really want me to answer that?

(Translation: come stand next to the TV so we can do a side-by-side comparison.)

White lie:

“Hmm… no… no, I don’t see it… maybe a little? But not in a bad way. Not like a full Oompa Loompa situation.”

So what is a person to do in such situations?

Thankfully for all of you, I have a few suggestions.

The “Innocent Me” Option:

This one is best used for people on the outer edge of your friend group—someone you don’t really like.

“OMG, the baby looks just like you. I can’t believe she got her mommy’s features.”

Say it in the sweetest, nicest voice you’ve got.

Then leave.

Quickly.

If you can’t leave—or she realizes it wasn’t a compliment—act innocent and confused. Look mildly insulted, with an air of I would never insult a baby.

And definitely do not add, “even one with a nose that big” to the end of that sentence.

That will not land well.

The Redirect (and Escape) Option:

Smile at the person and immediately change the subject—share some gossip, ask a random question, anything.

Commit to the new conversation like your life depends on it.

If they start circling back to the original question, pivot hard:

“Oh my God, I totally forgot to tell you—”

Then hold up one finger and walk away mid-sentence like you’ve just remembered something urgent.

Commit fully. Do not look back. Do not return.

If you do stay and they later realize you gave them bad information, just smile sweetly and say, “Oh, I’m sorry, I must have gotten it wrong.”

The “Is That My Relative?” Option:

Look around, squint a little, and say, “I think that’s my aunt. I have to go say hi or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Then go hug a random stranger who fits the description while saying:

“Auntie! It’s been so long—how are you?”

The Underqualified Option:

Say:

“I really shouldn’t give an opinion—it’s been years since I’ve seen a baby.”

Pause.

Let them figure that out.

The Turn Tail and Run Option:

Point to their shoe.

Announce that it’s untied.

And then run like hell.

Preferably quietly…

without taking down everything in your path or knocking people over.

The Joking Option:

This is usually my go-to.

“If I tilt my head and squint, I can see a slight resemblance. But don’t worry about it—everyone loves the Oompa Loompas.”

“That nose, a radioactive spider, and hello—superhero.”

I understand telling a white lie to protect someone’s feelings. But even then, you still have to remember what you’ve said—and that’s where it falls apart for me. Whether it’s a white lie or a lie to cover your, um, bum, it involves too much energy. I’d much rather just take ownership of what I say.

For reasons I don’t quite understand, I can say almost anything and people think I’m kidding. My hubby thinks this is some kind of superpower… but I think it’s just proof of how funny and charming I am.

So, I guess this is your warning…

Ask at your own risk.

We’ve all been asked a question we didn’t want to answer… 😬
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