In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Truth or Dare.”
There I go again blaming my sun sign for half the things I am responsible for. We Sagittarians seem to be cursed with a chronic case of ‘Foot-in-Mouth’ disease. So, yes, there is such a thing as being too honest.
However, I would not have it any other way.
I am not one to mince words. Yes, I will hold myself back for quite some time, because I like to give people second, third, fourth, even fifth chances. Eventually, though, I get to a point where I think, “Screw it, I don’t care what he/she/anyone thinks. I am going to blow my lid and blow it to the sky.”
I’ll give you an example.
A few years ago, one of my father’s friends visited us. Now, there are friends, and then there are “friends”. Unfortunately (for him—I’ll get to that in a minute), he was a “friend”. Do you know the people who expect your world to stop just because they decide to show up on your doorstep? Well, this “gentleman” (see the quotes?) expected my father to pick him up from the station just because he didn’t want to take a cab. Did I mention it was three in the morning? It was three in the morning.
My father did as he was “told” (what my mother wouldn’t give for that!).
Now, it’s one thing to treat your friend’s kids as your own. It’s another to barge into their room and wake them up. I am a generally nice person. As flamboyant, boisterous, gregarious, and quirky as I am, I hate people barging into my personal space. I was fifteen at that time. Combine my quirks with teenage DNA, and you know what you get.
I woke up groggily, but stayed quiet, only glaring my disapproval at my father.
After that, I watched as this man broke three cups of my mother’s china, ordered me around, spilled tea all over my certificates and accolades, and boasted of the many, many favors he had done to my father. I stayed quiet, because my father had known him since they were children, and that qualified as something. The, he (the gentlemen) offered to pay my college tuition, because he clearly didn’t think my father could.
Needless to say, I blew my lid.
I said to him, “That’s rich coming from a man who my mother tells me is wearing the same shirt that he was at her wedding. And that was sixteen years ago.”
His smile, of course, faded. He then made a quip about how I wasn’t lacking in spunk even though my parents were.
I said, “At least mine did something for their kids.”
He asked me what I wanted to study. At the time, I was all about architecture, and I told him so. However, my interests lay in English, and he was enraged when he realized I wasn’t going to pursue it as a career. He told me, in no unclear terms, that he wouldn’t let that happen.
“You couldn’t even take a cab to our house. I’d like to see you try to stop me,” was my reply.
One thing about Sagittarians: we are great hunters, especially when hunting information. If we want to know something about someone, we will find it.
I didn’t wait after that. I ratted him out on all of his familial and marital problems, his job, and his holier-than-thou attitude. At last, I told him that he would not get any more refreshments, and was never welcome in our home again.
And because I could not resist throwing in a little Doctor Who, I said, “I am being very, very calm. And the only reason I am being so very, very calm is because my parents brought me up better than yours brought you. I am telling you, being very, very calm, that no one insults my parents in front of me.”
He has never called to this day.
Here’s my point: don’t just listen. If you feel something, say it. Personally, I think the world would be better off for it. You call it like it is. I am not going to stand there and tell you that those jeans do not make you look fat: they do. I am not going to say your idea is great: it probably is not. I am not going to say that I support you: I am not. Either I like you, or I pretend you do not exist. It is as simple as that, and it makes life so much easier.