“Terrible compliment” should be an oxymoron. It’s not. I’ve had some absolute corkers. I recently attended a party in a fancy jumpsuit and heels. Someone, with all the kindness in the world, said to me: “You look ever so comfy.” COMFY? I’m grinning through burning arches of agony, bunched toes smooshed into pointed tip-ends. Shoulders stretched back and torso pulled long. I can’t rub my itchy eyes for fear of smearing the slap I’ve caked on. And to top it all off, it’s a jumpsuit with under-Spanx, so I’m holding in about three pints of wee because every trip to the loo is as exhausting as putting up and taking down a family-size tent. Comfy? FML.
The same night I overheard someone’s weightlifting described as “heartwarming”. That’s what you say about a cup of tea or a video of a tiger nuzzling a chick. Not to a woman who can deadlift 120kg. That’s heavier than an off-season Arnold Schwarzenegger. Or two and a half Keira Knightleys. What’s made you all fuzzy about that?
