A gentleman I got to know spring semester pontificated one evening (ad nauseum, I might add) about how it bothers him when people make assumptions (about him, about things in general). I sat back and listened to him rant about how a professor made a general comment about how people in the room had either worked to be where they were or they came from very generous families…shooting him a glare. This bothered him because, although he was wearing a very nicely tailored pinstripe suit with a custom-made French-cuffed shirt and gold cufflinks, he truly came from nothing and worked to get ahead. He’s the son of naturalized immigrants, and because he drives a BMW and wears nice clothes, people assume he’s a trust funder from a posh zip code.
A few miles down the road, he trespassed on his own pet peeve: he called me “Daddy’s little girl” in that oh-so-spoiled sort of way. I kindly explained to him that while I am indeed an only child, I am not as spoiled as he would like to believe and that I in fact worked for a lot of what he saw. He didn’t realize he was guilty of his own frustrations.
But we’re all guilty of it. We’re all guilty of making assumptions. And my Dad will routinely remind me that “When you assume, all you are doing is making…” I think we get the idea.
I have to admit though, as guilty as I am, I tend to let it hurt me before I know the truth. Case in point: a week ago, residual hit me with the thoughts about me accompanying him to his firm’s functions… everybody’s bringing guests and he wants me to be his. Sure, that could be fun, I thought.
He called me back at the end of the night and told me that one of his coworkers went to grade school with a friend of mine (let’s call her Liz), and did I have Liz’s number so they could get back in touch? No harm, right? I gave him Liz’s number, knowing full well that Liz hit on residual at my Mom’s memorial [which residual pointed out as bad form and that he would personally never touch her; she’s dirty, after all] and has made numerous comments to me about how she wants to sleep with him just to see how he is to lay [true story], even though I have spent the last year talking about him to her. [Tact and grace may be next Thursday’s blog].
Friday rolls around and Liz has called, but didn’t leave a message. I called each that evening just to chit-chat. Neither have returned a call, yet. So I assume they slept together. Which is fine. We’re all adults here, and residual & I are single (Liz is in a relationship in which she has already cheated on her man at least once that she told me about).
So why do I get so upset about this? I mean, I don’t even know the truth. And so what if I do know that they did? It shouldn’t mean anything to me. But it still hurts. So I let my assumptions eat a hole through my stomach. I let myself get upset at them without having confirmation.
But maybe there’s some truth to that crazy old addage and I am just “making an ass out of”… well, you know the rest. So I think I am going to resolve to not let myself get too wrapped up in assumptions. After all, there could be perfectly plausible reasons for not speaking to either of my friends in the last week.
I think I am actually talking myself back into my idyllic outlook again. This tends to get me into trouble sometimes, but all in all I truly believe that people are honest and good and not deceitful (for the most part). And until they prove me wrong, I give them the benefit of the doubt. But there I go assuming again.