15. Telling the truth to women, a.k.a most embarrassing moment #2

Apart from my professions and various hobbies, I happen to be an activist in several matters.
One of the groups I am proud to be a part of is TITS (Truth Is The Solution), which aims for a better world for couples and for endangered species (a.k.a men) alike.
We believe that every woman deserves a true answer for her daily questions (such as, "do I look fat with that new dress?") and we hope that if every man in the planet stops lying and starting to tell the truth today, in a few generations evolution will create a new race of women which will make relations between sexes much easier and more pleasant for both sides.
Unfortunately most men fail to see to that point, and continue spreading lies everywhere in hopes that they could spread other things in return (those lousy lazy bastards).
As we are still looking for a better, less misleading name for the organization, we will continue fight for justice until the promised victory.

Not very long ago I went out with a lovely girl. We went to eat and then came to her place. In a semi-romantic moment, she held my hands and said she would like me to listen to her favorite song and put on a CD of Phil Collins greatest hits. She looked straight to my eyes and asked me if I liked it. As I saw clearly the advantage of lying or shutting up, I tried my best to avoid answering the question. However, soon enough I understood it was only the first track in a CD of over an hour of this horrid music, and as a founding member of TITS I had to tell her what I really thought of it. True, I could have phrased it a little better, and not share with her the only circumstance I could see myself listening to it again, but still- it was damned worth it.

Another funny instance of telling the truth to a woman, although what I said was heavily misinterpreted, was the famous dinner party story, a.k.a Most embarrassing moment that makes a good story #2.

I was invited to a dinner with good friends of mine in London. As they wanted to help me getting concerts there, they invited also a small concert organizer to dine with us.
From the very first moment I knew I didn't like that woman. She was annoying and kept talking to the children as if they were retarded (I remembered even as a child I hated these kind of people). At one point, after lots of wine was served to everybody in the table (including the children, if I remember right), she has decided to share with us a remarkable story from her long gone youth. This was her story. Please read it imagining a very high voice with lots of hand movements.

"When I was four, I was first brought to London. Everything looked so big and amazing, and I was in awe just walking down the streets. One day my father took me to the Madame Toussaud Museum, and there I found out there was a secret compartment, hidden behind a curtain, and a very long queue to that. I stood in line and waited, but when I reached the top of the queue, the usher told me it is forbidden for a young girl like me to see it. I was very disappointed and left the museum. The next time I came to London was more than 15 years later. Of course, the first thing I did was to run to Madame Toussaud and look for that hidden thing behind the curtain. To my great disappointment, it wasn't there anymore, and nobody working in the museum knew what I was talking about. Now- what do you think was there behind the curtain that could scare me so much?"

Without even thinking twice, I have replied- "a mirror". Of course, I only meant it in the metaphysical sense, meaning that our own existence is the most frightening thing we could expect, but I could very much understand after saying that word that it could be heavily misinterpreted.
As I feared, the annoying lady didn't have an existentialistic education, nor the least Jewish self humor. She turned pale, and for the rest of the dinner kept whispering to the person next to her, "I cannot believe he actually said it". However, unlike the other dinner party in France, where I really wanted to bury myself alive, here I couldn't hold myself from laughing out loud, as the situation was so ridiculous, and couldn't wait to come back home and tell it to my friends (or wait one year and create a blog).

Have your own stories? Wanting to join TITS? Small donations (£1,000 and above, please) are always welcome.