To be or not to be (a bitch).

You know, I haven't always disguised my thoughts from others. There was a time when I was brutally honest to my friends. We're talking brutal here. So I wonder--was it youth that gave me such, well, balls? Or am I mellowing out in my old age as I inch my way toward dentures and (hopefully) a cherry red jazzy scooter?

When I was about 10 years old, one of my Mom's employees asked me a question that was begging for a politically correct answer. I elected to ignore that fact.

Danzon: Can you see my underwear through these? (points to the ass of his thin white umbro shorts)
Me: (staring at his tighty whites and the black hair on his thighs--through the shorts) Yes. It doesn't look good.
D: I look fat, don't I?
Me: Yes.

All was silent for a perfectly awkward minute or two, and then he said:
"You are so honest, Holly. You're going to make someone a great friend someday."

I was a little taken aback because, as far as I knew, I had said something offensive, something my mom would have HOLLY!-ed me for. And yet, his words have stuck with me for 11 years, reminding me to step up and tell a friend what I really think.

I look back on all the times I was brutal to my friends. I've told them they are selfish, unrealistic. I've told them their boyfriends are pieces of shit and that their senior thesis is lacking in imagination.

And yet, they are all still my friends, a lifetime later.

So I guess the question is: are they still friends with me because they appreciate my honesty or because I surround myself with people who are too dumb shun me?

Let's go with the former.