Tact or truth?

Truth or tact

asks my date the other night.

Always truth, I say.
I want to know where I stand; judge me openly.  Yeah, it fucking smarts at times (actually always) but truth enables me to move on after the hurtful thing is said.
And I can trust you if you’re honest.

Then I hear his reasons for tact via a three-year relationship break-up story.

Tact goes like this:
I told her it felt like we were friends more than anything else.  

The sex wasn’t good enough.
For three years not good enough.

He explains:
I figured if she read between the lines, she’d get what I was really talking about but I wouldn’t have to spell it out for her and hurt her in the process.  I’d already accidentally given her body issues.  She was fishing for it though!  She wouldn’t let up, wanting me to name a physical imperfection; so I was honest about the only part of her body that was less than fairly perfect.  And she never got over it.

In his defense, he was a professional athlete at the time; I sure as hell wouldn’t have probed hard for his opinion unless I wanted harsh motivation to tone some shit.

So when it was time for The Talk he chose tact.

It makes me see him and tact in a different light.
Wow, he’s actually a nice guy and he really cared about her feelings.

And my choosing haughty truth makes me feel like a less thoughtful, not-as-kind person.  In the realm of relationships I always thought that I wanted to be told exactly what’s up and why because then I’d know where I stand, which leads to ultimate trust.  But sometimes it takes processing time to get at the why so in the meantime, how about don’t not tell me something just to spare my feelings.

They say it’s not what you say but how you say it, which like so many clichés is so annoyingly true.  Historically, I’ve cloaked the damn truth with so many rusted daggers that, fuck communication, all I accomplish is deeply infected hurt.  So my current goal is successfully marrying tact and truth, which means I lied.

Okay, ask me again- truth or tact?
I say yes.
Because I have turned into fucking Switzerland.

about Japan

Japanese guys have no tact

Japanese guys have no tact

so please gimme beer float to deal.

Because sometimes I just want alcohol.  And ice cream.  Together.  At home.
Which makes me an alcoholic in Japan.
Not kidding.

Ok, this is fucked up.
Me: I can’t believe people in Japan don’t drink at home.  Seriously?!
FB (friend-boy): Yeah…no, they don’t.  It’s very rare.  Do you?
Me: Sure.
FB: Alone?
Me: Sometimes.
FB: Are you an alcoholic?
Me: Frealz?! Okay, he’s being serious.  No, I’m not an alcoholic.  Enter speedy, defensive thoughts on the immediate: sometimes I really like a beer when I get home.  Or a whiskey.  Especially after working and running around this crazy city for 8, 10, 14 hours straight and having felt sweat rivulets streaming down my back since my first train at 8am.  Wait, why do I feel I have to qualify my drinking?  Fuck that, FB.  
FB: Hmm…

Dude: Did you get your hair done?
Me: Yep. Wow, dude actually noticed; perhaps I’m not giving him enough credit.
Dude: Did you add new color to cover up your greys?
Me: Nope, giving him exactly the credit he deserves.  I don’t have any grey…yet.  I debate telling him that his line of questioning isn’t going to win any cute Japanese girl hearts.  But then again he’s like 12 22 so…perhaps better for him to learn this on his own.  Growing pains, dude.

And most recently,
Him: Did you answer the intercom just now?
Me: Um…yes.
Him: Wow, your Japanese is very pretty.
Me: I am incredulous, in disbelief.  Really?
Him: Yeah, it’s really strange but not strange like the way most other foreigners speak it.
Me: Mm-hmm.  So probably he doesn’t know what pretty means?  I am so confused by his unsolicited critique on my language skills that I’m sure it shows on my face, furrowed brows and all.
Him: No, I mean it’s very cute.  And strange.

Can I have that beer whiskey float now?