"Can I be honest with you?"

Can I Be Honest With You?

Why do people ask this question?  What comes after this “can I be honest with you” question is never a good thing anyway, so why do they even ask?  If they are hell bent on insulting me, or pointing out some sort of deficiency they believe me to have, why be so polite to ask permission first?  Why don’t they just say ”I’m an asshole and would like to point something out to you that will make you feel worse than you already do.”  Maybe they are humanitarians disguised as assholes and I should just lighten up, but come on!  What’s the deal with the constant need to state the obvious to someone that already is having a hard time?

Three days of almost non-stop autistic meltdowns with my son, normal work schedule, our 3 other kids, housework, and what we could pretend was our attempt at nutrition and self preservation, my husband and I sat huddled together sipping coffee at the kitchen table.  We sat at the kitchen table because we knew if we sat on the couch we would fall asleep; so we discussed how we would get caught up on the errands, chores, work, etc. now that we had the opportunity to do so with a calm child instead of a “punching his face” child.    Ok the grocery list is made, the bills are laid out to be paid, the kids are ready to be dropped off, yep, off we go to complete a bunch of meaningless but apparently important tasks that seem about as much fun as a sharp stick in the eye after the week we’ve had.  Muddle on through the day completing one thing after another, get in line at the post office, run into “what’s-her-face” and hear , ”Hi!  oh, I haven’t seen you in a while, blah blah blah, can I be honest with you?”  Oh no.  My expression drops as fast as a lead balloon.  “Here it comes, brace for it”,  I tell myself in my head while I tuck my hands in my pockets to prevent any unscheduled beatings.  What’s-her-face’s next comment isn’t horrible but feels like salt in a wound right about now when she says “You really need to just go away to a spa or something, you look very tired”.  What?  Really?  Well first of all, someone call the Nobel Prize Police because this woman’s a genius!  Thank you for taking an already bad day that I am just trying to get through and making it a lot worse because now I am keenly aware of how terribly unattractive and worn out I look!  Yippeeeee!  Asshole.

“Can I be honest with you?” I heard as I tried to run the other way and didn’t make it fast enough.  “I couldn’t help but notice that you and your husband didn’t attend the thing-a-ma-jig at the whatch-a-ma-call-it last Saturday”.  I know you stay very busy at home but don’t you think it would be good for you and your husband to get out once in awhile?”  “Ah-hah! This one’s a real genius!”,  I’m thinking to myself while I contemplate blurting things out loud.  Thanks asshole, I hadn’t thought of that.  You know all that’s really been stopping me is that no one had ever approached me and given me the idea like you so nobly have.

“Can I be honest with you?”, this time I’m fast enough to employ evasive maneuvers through the parking lot around and in-between the other cars in the recommended zig zag fashion.  Ducking and darting I’m pretty sure I’m in the clear when I round the corner to the truck and start to get my son out of the wheelchair and into his seat.  This is when I realize I’ve lost the battle because there’s a totally new asshole standing there.  “Can I be honest with you?”, this is too much lifting for you, you really ought to have someone helping you with this.  Thanks asshole!  Here I was thinking I was his mother and it is my job!  So glad you pointed that out, now I’ll just sit here each time and wait for someone to come and do my job for me.”

An excerpt from  "Autism & Assholes" by Marie Duke
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