Good Taste, Bad Language — Long-Sleeve Tee

You know exactly which vase you like. You have walked round the room, looked at the others, returned to the first and reached a conclusion with admirable care. Then your companion asks what you think and you describe it as fucking gorgeous. A nearby conversation pauses. Your companion looks delighted.

There are probably finer words available. You are happy to hear them. You would only ask that they manage to convey the same degree of interest without making you sound as though you are applying to work there.

You enjoy a beautiful room. You enjoy clothes with enough color to hold their own in it. Before you came out, you put the long patterned top with a plain skirt and decided that was quite sufficient preparation for looking at other people's decisions.

Your companion has a different favorite. This produces the sort of disagreement you like: particular, entirely survivable, improved by standing closer together so you can make your point quietly. They tell you why they prefer theirs. You listen. They have noticed something you hadn't, which is both attractive and mildly inconvenient.

Outside, they ask whether you would like a drink. You say you would like to hear what else they have been noticing. They give you an answer that is considerably less concerned with vases. This time you are the one who pauses.

You consider several finer words. None of them seems equal to the occasion.

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