In my fifty-six years I've received one compliment regarding my physicalitynessitude:
February 19th 2004, 2:17pm, “You have nice eyes.” The charming young lady who uttered those kind words looked up from the photograph of me, back at the photo, back to me, the photo, me, photo, me, photo, then said, “And they say the camera never lies?”
Before you reach for your hanky to dab away those tears of pity, I have been complimented many times on other aspects. Here's one that really got to the heart of the matter:
There are days when even a pleasantly-plump bloke with greying hair and beard feels good about himself. A few years ago, I ran a telemarketing company (yes, yes, I do penance every day) 'manned' mostly by women, when such a day dawned. New shoes, new trousers, new shirt, my normally independently-minded hair was cooperating, and, my scales had informed me that I was a pound lighter than the previous day. I felt good. Striding confidently about the vast telesales floor I fancied I cut quite the dashing figure.
A young – mid twenties – attractive young operator came scuttling up to me. “I love working here,” she proclaimed.
“Happy to hear that,” said I.
“It's just like working for Father Christmas,” she gushed.
I'll leave you to imagine the fixed smile on my face as I thanked her.
There is one compliment I can never get enough of and am still glowing from as I type: my twelve year old daughter, unceremoniously plonking herself on my lap, curling up, sighing and saying, “I love you, daddy.”
It doesn't get much better than that.