I was watching TV once, when I was perhaps twelve. The narrator was
gushing about his beautiful daughter. A young brunette stepped onto
the screen. I didn’t think she was that pretty, so as I always do when
I’m confused, I ask my dad for his opinion.
J: Dad, why did he say she was pretty? I don’t think she’s pretty.
Dad: She’s not, Jane. I agree. It’s just because most fathers think
their children are beautiful.
J: Oh. Do you think I’m pretty?
Dad: You’re average. But that’s good. An ugly woman is a treasure.
Much less domestic strife.
And, as always when I don’t like what my dad has to say, I consulted
my mother for a second opinion.
J: Mom, am I pretty?
Mom: Not really, but you would make a very handsome boy!