A funny take on how giving honest opinions only when asked still earned me a group of haters—and how my wife taught me to just say, “It’s wonderful.”

I’ve always believed in one simple rule: don’t give opinions unless someone asks for them. If I like something or hate it, I stay quiet. But the moment someone asks me, “What do you think?”—that’s when the trouble begins.

You see, when people ask for my opinion, they get the truth. No sugar-coating, no pretty words, just my honest thoughts. Sounds simple, right? Except, honesty isn’t always welcome.

Here’s how it usually plays out:
A friend asked me about her new dish during a picnic at Algonquin Park. I told her, “It’s a bit salty.” She didn’t call me for a month.

Another friend showed me a painting he was proud of at the Kitchener-Waterloo Art Gallery. I said, “It looks like something from a kids’ art class.” Now he avoids eye contact whenever we meet at Uptown Waterloo.

At some point, I realized I was collecting haters like others collect stamps. People stopped asking me what I thought. My honesty, it seems, was too much for them to handle.

Ironically, I’ve always wanted honest feedback myself. Whenever I show my work—whether it’s my writing, cooking, or anything else—I beg people for their true opinions. “Be brutally honest,” I say. And when they are, I listen, nod, and actually try to improve.

I don’t get offended by their feedback because I know the value of an honest opinion. If nobody tells me what’s wrong, how will I get better? But apparently, not everyone thinks this way.

My wife knows this side of me all too well. She’s my unofficial “opinion guardian.” Before I even open my mouth, she’s already whispering in my ear, “If anyone asks for your opinion, just say, ‘It’s wonderful.’”

At first, I didn’t understand. “Why should I lie?” I asked her. She gave me the look that only wives can give and said, “Because if you don’t, you’ll end up alone with your honest opinions.”

She has a point. Being honest hasn’t exactly won me any awards—or friends. People want to hear “It’s amazing!” not “It could be better.” They want sweet lies, not bitter truths.

So, I’ve started practicing.
Someone shows me a strange haircut at the St. Jacobs Farmers’ Market? “It’s wonderful!”
A dish tastes like cardboard at the Elmira Maple Syrup Festival? “So creative!”
A kid draws a stick figure that looks like a banana at the Waterloo Region Museum? “Such amazing talent!”

It’s not easy for someone like me. I feel like I’m betraying myself every time I fake a compliment. But my wife says I’m just being “kind.” She believes it’s not lying; it’s maintaining relationships.

Here’s the funny part: nobody doubts my fake compliments. They smile, thank me, and walk away happy. Meanwhile, I sit there wondering if honesty is really worth the trouble.

But here’s the twist. After writing this blog, I decided to test my wife’s opinion. I showed it to her and asked, “Honey! What do you think?”

She looked at it, raised an eyebrow, and said, “If you bring me this kind of trash again, I’ll break your laptop! And for your next blog, write about your cooking experiments. That will make anyone laugh without trying!”

At least she gave me her honest, unfiltered opinion! And ironically, I didn’t get mad. Maybe I’m finally learning to appreciate brutal honesty—when it’s not coming from me.

So, if you ever see me nodding and saying “It’s wonderful,” just know—it’s not me. It’s my wife’s training in action. But if you really want my honest opinion, be ready for the truth… or maybe don’t ask at all.