More of Candace’s inner workings

I’m not good with sweet talk. It’s really hard for me to be all, “I love you so much. I’m glad you’re in my life. You look amazing. You’re the best parent/friend/lover I’ver ever had.”

That doesn’t mean I don’t think it. I even sometimes write it here or in a greeting card, but it takes a lot for me to say it out loud. It even makes me uncomfortable. So I’d rather rib the people I love. It’s the way my family rolls.

I love you. Whatever, don't make a big deal about it.
I love you. Whatever, don’t make a big deal about it.

It’s also hard for me to accept compliments. That doesn’t mean they don’t matter to me. They definitely do. A lot. My sister is plotting a move to Germany. A while back, she told me the hardest part of moving is not living close to me anymore. It was a really sweet thing for her to say. After all, we lived across the country from one another for 12 years. Now it takes about four hours to get to her house. I didn’t really know how to respond to what she said. I’m sure I stammered a response, acknowledging that I, too, like her.

Last year I broke up with a guy who was all about the sweet talk. It made me uncomfortable. It was really tempting to say, “you don’t love me! You don’t even know me. You met me a month ago! Stop telling me I’m pretty. It’s weird!” It was never going to work.

So don’t take my lack of warmth as a sign that I hate you. It could be that I hate you. I mean I’m not particularly open with people I don’t like, but it might not mean that either. I’m a tough one to read.

I, however, have no trouble going on and on about how much I love pumpkin cookies, Blue Bottle lattes, Kangoo class and the super soft Under Armor tank I bought at the sample sale. $12!

You may all pull out your Psychology 101 books to see what this lack of verbal intimacy says about me.

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