I can honestly say that I consider Jon one of the smartest, most insightful, reflective people I know. Over the last 12 years, he has offered countless words of wisdom on everything from personal relationships to business plans. So what the hell is up with me tuning him out like one of the Peanuts grown ups (“wah wah wah”) on random matters? Two recent examples come to mind.
Several months ago, Jon discovered baby coconuts at Whole Foods and – already sagely knowing about their health properties – decided to buy a couple and risk personal injury to crack them open with a knife so we could enjoy the beneficial contents. He served me a glass of coconut water and I sipped it gingerly, proclaiming that it tasted “weird.”
Fast forward to this month where, after reading the latest issue of In Style, in which Rebecca Romijn credits her radiant skin to coconut water, I immediately ran out to Whole Foods and bought a couple of liters of the stuff. I went back for 4 more liters yesterday (it's on sale). I just can't stop yacking about how “delicious and refreshing” the water is; I even pushed a liter on my mom yesterday, insisting that she start drinking it (though there's baggage here; she harps on me with some regularity about skin care).
Jon reminded me of my initial reaction to coconut water, and the best I could come up with was that either: a) I didn’t like the floaties in the fresh coconut water; 2) I was expecting a pina colada to come out of the coconut; 3) Rebecca looked hot in that photo shoot; if coconut water could improve my skin I better damn well like it.
The second example was just last night, where my awesome friend Paige (you must hire her for home design consultation…) came over to catch up, swap a few things we’ve been meaning to swap, and take a look at our living room to help us improve the feng shui. Jon asked her to also give me a hard time about my office lighting situation (currently just the overhead light, with 2 of the 3 bulbs burnt out). So we went upstairs and Paige proceeded to give me a thorough ribbing about the bizarre fact that for an office that serves as the creativity hub for countless Boston Mamas and Posh Peacock projects, it was poorly lit and severely lacking in inspiration and organization. She plans on tackling the office right after fixing our living room (actually, she wants to do the office first it is so bad).
Mind you, Jon has been on my case about the office for some time now, offering cash and muscle to fix the lighting and arrangement of this room, yet again, for some reason I have tuned him out (“wah wah wah”).
I’m not sure why I appear to experience selective listening with him - smart dude that he is - but if these two data points count for anything, maybe I just take beauty and décor directives better from women.