The Art of dodging

Hey folks. Monday is almost done. As we reach the end of the day, Ever wonder about the delightful art of not answering the question we are asked. Instead, we answer a nearby question. A mystery wrapped in absurdity, and we happen to be masters at it. Because we love just dancing around the question like a clumsy ballerina who forgot choreography.

Someone shares their vacation plans. “Anything interesting to do in Portugal?” I mean, a logical person -someone with common sense-would answer about Portugal, maybe talk about the Douro valley or the beaches. But no, not us! “Hungary is great fun! Budapest is awesome.” But what about Portugal? We shine on other minor details, even if the spotlight is on the wrong stage.

Forgetting momentarily the word 'croutons', I ask my colleague. “What’s the name of those bread things you put in soups?” He says with all seriousness of a philosopher, “I don’t have soups any more. I prefer salads, they are better for digestion.” Thanks for that riveting insight into your digestive tract, buddy. But can I please just get my croutons?

Even children aren't spared from this madness. A curious little girl, eyes wide in wonder, asks, “Does the equator pass through Tanzania?” A sensible adult would say yes or no. But me? Oh no. I embark on a National Geographic special and lecture her about the magical, annual wildebeest migration. I was answering the nearby question of "What makes Tanzania special?" Which is not what she asked, but what I knew. (As a bonus, I tell her a wildebeest is also called a gnu). Poor kid is probably wondering if wildebeests are the ones running along the equator, taking selfies in Tanzania.

I'm starting to think : sometimes, we just don't want trouble.

“You told John we're not coming?” asks the wife. The guy answers, “Their little Sara is not well.” Which is an answer to no question asked at all. "Asthma again?” says the concerned wife. They discuss the health of their friends’ child. The husband, like thousands before him, thereby successfully side-steps the original question. For which the troublesome answer is: no, I forgot to call John.

You know it. It happens at work too.

Did the stakeholder approve the strategy? And someone replies, You know, I hear his junior is being promoted over him. Full madness on the cards. Everyone leans in to get the latest goss. Strategy approval? Never mind eh?

If I point to a random dog and ask my friend, “Is that a terrier or a bulldog?” He takes a look and says, “Pomeranians are the worst. My neighbour has one.” He mimics its crazy, high-pitched barking multiple times. We laugh. The random dog's breed remains unknown, was that a terrier? a random street dog? Well, that's now living rent free in your curiosity.

Ask someone today: "Got your iPhone 16 Pro?" A true Nearby Question Expert will confidently say, “Man, what a mile-long queue at the Apple Store! Kids today have so much money or what?” The conversation opens out, everyone chips in and the Expert escapes from giving a straight answer. Everything, except whether they've actually got the phone.

Hearing real questions but answering nearby questions instead is a quick, instinctive art.

To get out of awkward situations (“So how old is the birthday girl today?”) or hide our inaction (“Did you send the proposal?”) or avoid our status being judged ("Which car do you drive?").

So, why do we do it? Is it fear? Laziness? Often, though, I think it is a refusal to admit ignorance- whether about dogs or croutons or Tanzania. And simply saying:

I don’t know.

Three more days. Stay afloat.