Four Things Better Left Unsaid

I'm not one to point out peoples' irritating speech patterns, but there are things people say that would be better left unsaid. I don't need to hear your personal disclaimer for what's about to come out of your mouth, nor do I need you to preface your words with self-importance to complete the delusion in your mind that your advice is somehow better for me than my own. There are too many examples for me to include in one blog post, so to make a long story short, here are four of them. I know you probably know more than four, but if I were you I'd want me to keep your reading manageable. It's the least I can do.

“X” marks the spot where some of your

little treasures are better left buried.

"I'm not [insert what you think you're not here], but..." It's the opening line of the hypocrite's exemption. I'm not one to complain, but here's my complaint. I'm not an expert, but here's my expert opinion. I'm not against gay marriage, but... I'm not a racist, but... I'm not a doctor, but... The list is as endless as things you're not. It's a defensive preface someone uses like it's some kind of free pass to express ignorance or bias on a particular subject, and especially when it comes to giving advice. If you're "not," close your mouth so I can listen to the person who "is." You are allowed to exhale without words coming out, so stop multi-tasking, because you know what you're not? Helping.

"..., so to make a long story short, ..." Nope, I'm afraid you can't. This is most often heard toward the end of a story, so if you got it to this point...well, you can't unburn a candle. All you did by saying this is reveal that a shortened version of this masterpiece already existed and the listener just happened to be lucky enough to get the director's extended cut instead of the Reader's Digest edited version. In fact, the shortened version was probably so boring there was a need to include more words in a vain attempt to make it sound interesting...even to you. Don't confuse the listener remaining in that chair as being completely engrossed in your every word. They've simply developed a motor skill paralysis that is keeping them from getting up and walking away. If you really want to make your long story short, then just do it from the start. We don't really need to know how many phone calls you made, how many different supervisors you spoke with, and how your "threat" to cancel your cable service got you that $20 credit on your next bill. Cut to the chase before our eyes glaze over and all we can hear from you is the grown-up voice in a Peanuts cartoon.

"If I were you..." And yet, you aren't. Generally speaking, if you were me you wouldn't think of suggesting what you'd do in my place. You're only doing this because you don't have to suffer the consequences of being me if I do as you suggest. There's not much difference between "If I were you..." and "I dare you to..." Like I'm really going to get in the face of some guy twice my size for cutting in front of me in line because that's what you would do if you were me. How about I let you be me so we can see how that scenario plays out. You can be me all the way up to my health insurance co-pay. I'd probably piss myself laughing just imagining all of the things I would do if you'd be held responsible. I'd love to hear an attorney argue, "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my client committed this crime because my client's friend said that that's what he would do if he was my client. Therefore, I stipulate that my client's friend should be found guilty and do the actual jail time." So be glad you're not me and keep your mouth shut. Besides, I know better than to heed your advice because I can think of a laundry list on reasons from Alimony to Zero credit why I wouldn't want you to be me.

"It's the least I can do." It isn't. Usually someone says this when offering a token amount of help out of guilt to whomever's doing a majority of the work. Let's say it's making dinner...two pots on the stove and something in the oven, the cook trying not to add finger pieces to the food while working the cutting board and measuring ingredients. Then there's that stable point in the process to break free and set the table, balancing plates and silverware to make it in one trip in order to get back to the stove before something boils over. Then some jackass asks something like, "Do you want me to get the napkins for you?" The response is, "Yeah, that would be great," which comes out courteously, but if listened to closely has an unmistakable sound of friction that rolling of the eyes would make if rolling eyes made noise. Then jackass says, smiling, "No problem. It's the least I can do." Is it? That's the least you can do? Really? You mean standing there for an hour nursing that beer and bitching about how busy your day was while watching someone else bounce around the kitchen wasn't already pretty close to the least you can do? Apparently it was a mistake thinking you had set the benchmark for "least you can do" when you put the bottle opener on the counter and your mobility in neutral. Technically, the least you can do is nothing, which means no matter what you do that you think is the least you can do, you will always have another lower level inactivity to fall back on.