Ding Dong

So, I was discussing with Ryan a discovery I had a few weeks ago: for me, small talk = lying. I have exceeded my allowance of little white lies at the checkout counter alone.

Checker: "Cooking is just so relaxing, isn't it?"
Allie: "Oh, yes, it's fantastic!"

Checker: "Isn't the rain horrible?"
Allie: "It's disgusting, really!"

I'm like a bobblehead doll that agrees with everything anyone says to me. And not only do I agree -- I expand.

Checker: "Don't you just love celery?"
Al: "It's my favorite green. The crunch it makes when you bite into it -- so satisfying. And really, what can't you put celery in?"

WTH? Do I like celery? Only doused in dressing. Do I know what you can or cannot put celery in? NO. I am such a tool.

But, after talking this over with Ryan, I have made a concerted effort not to be such a yes girl.

But, but... when the doorbell rings and it's a pair of Mormons -- what am I supposed to do?

"No, I don't want a picture of Jesus, thanks."

"No, I haven't found god, but really I don't have the time to go looking."

"No, I'm perfectly content without a seat at the table of the universe."

"No, I don't want help with my yard - brown was an aesthetic choice."

Ugh. Anyone want a picture of Jesus? I have a spare.