What the heck?
If you can disappoint someone you love and/or admire hugely, all the better. Here's the thing: unless they're narcissistic jerks, the people whose opinions matter most to us don't actually want the burden of that responsibility. They don't want us to treat their every utterance as gospel or their every desire as divine fiat. They don't want to be our bad cops or good angels. They've got better, more interesting things to do, and our insecurity only drags them down.
Truly, the people in our lives who are most worthy of our love and admiration are the people we'll have the hardest time disappointing, but we'll never believe that unless we try. The people who love us depend on us to try, because the myth of perfect harmony is a cold killer. It will remorselessly strangle the life and joy from our love if we give it an opening.
I'm not suggesting that you go kick your grandmother in the teeth, or stand up a friend, or bare your breasts to Richard Thompson at his next concert. (What? That hadn't occurred to you? It has occurred to me, because I am a disappointingly low-minded gal despite my high-minded taste for British sarcasm, lyrical brilliance, and berets. I don't care if the man is twenty years my senior - he's incredibly damn hot.) You see, we don't have to make a big effort to be disappointing. We all come by it naturally. If you find yourself tempted by the grand "fuck you" gesture, you've probably spent a long time hiding your naturally disappointing self away, stuffing her into a very small, spring-loaded box. She will get out one day - SURPRISE!
That's why I'm in favor of making disappointment part of our daily routine. It's as easy as saying "no." As easy as saying "that doesn't work for me." As hard as saying "I want." Or "I think," or "I feel." And not apologizing.
There it is, my fool-proof, dissatisfaction-guaranteed recipe for disappointing others. Baking times may vary - check your oven temperature.
Forza!
Gretchen