I’m One of Those People Who Can’t Help Being Sooo Nice
Ever since I was little, I’ve been super nice. I can’t help it; it’s basically in my DNA. Ugh!
My coworker Marnie gave this totally lame presentation on social media marketing yesterday and afterwards I went up to her and said, “That was sooooo amazing! Great work!” Even though it was totally boring and I had to do like 70 kegels just to stay awake. I wrote Marnie a super nice note afterwards explaining how her presentation truly strengthened my already amazing pelvic floor muscles and would probably also benefit any poor souls suffering from urinary urge incontinence. I’m always looking for the positive in any situation — it’s a thing that nice people like me do.
People always tell me I have a beautiful smile when I ask, “What else is beautiful on my face besides my eyes, nose, and chin?” It’s such a burden having RKF — ”Resting Kind Face.” It’s like, my inner goodness emanates through my pearly whites and makes people feel happy and whole, and I have to live with that. It’s a lot of responsibility. Being this nice takes so much emotional labor — it’s basically the equivalent of a full-time job, plus overtime, plus weekend hours, plus night shifts, on top of supervising six feckless interns and having a side gig as a CEO.
I was in charge of leading the icebreaker at my last work meeting, so I chose the alliterative game where everybody goes around in a circle and says an adjective before their names. I went first because I didn’t want anyone to steal my perfect-for-me adjective and I said, “Nice Nora.” Everyone said affirming phrases like, “So true” and “Accurate” and “Jesus Christ!” and I just stood there showing off my RKF. Steven went next. He was taking forever to decide, so I generously helped him out with, “Sluggish Steven.” When I see a friend in need, it’s my gut instinct to help. Not only did I save him from the embarrassing fate of publicly forgetting all adjectives starting with “s,” I offered him one that was highly accurate. My kindness knows no bounds.
Nice people say yes to everything. Since I’m so nice, I say yes constantly. My friend Tasha texted me before our friend’s birthday dinner saying, “Just checking — Dinner is at 8:00, right?” I believe it’s so important to say yes to people — it makes them feel validated. So I said, “Yes, you are correct! Fantastic memory, Tasha! Way to go.” Even though dinner was at 6:00 and I knew she’d totally miss the celebration, I said yes in a super validating way because I’m very, very kind.
My boyfriend proposed to me last week and I said yes because I have a big heart and I prioritize his happiness. He bought me a $12,000 diamond ring and I had been pestering him to propose for three years, and even threatened to alert the IRS to his tax fraud if he didn’t, but then when he proposed I said yes because I’m so freaking nice.
Two nights ago, I was out walking my toy poodle, Mother Furesa, and I saw that this woman was about to walk directly into a metal pole. I didn’t call out to warn her or help her up off the sidewalk as she lay there sobbing, but I did record and narrate the whole incident for my Insta story. Like, how selfless is that? I took the time out of my day to warn my many followers about the dangers of being a stupid idiot. Gosh, I’m too nice for my own good sometimes.
It’s really difficult being labeled as one thing. Like, what if one day I wake up and want to be mean? Not that I’d ever be mean. Actually, I take that back. Don’t you DARE take my nice title away from me.
