At work (and in life in general), I am a pretty peppy fella.

“How’s your day going, Dave?” “Fantastic (!) Phylis, how about yours?” (In this instance, it probably was a crappy day and by the way, I don’t work with a Phylis.)

“What are you having for lunch, Dave?” “The most delicious food ever!” (Sad leftovers.)

Okay, I could be considered a liar (which by the way is hard to spell, which is the truth), but I like to consider it as just a glass half full outlook.

So at work, we were chatting and I slipped.  I described a situation and said, “Oh, it’ll be fine.” That’s when a realization swept through the room.  I had revealed a secret.  My cheery Poker Face had been blown.  My tell was “fine.” If I really thought of something as a dumpster fire, I would describe it as “fine.” Just “fine.” No more, no less.

So when you hear me say these words of sweet assurance, “It’s fine.” You had best run for cover, because I just said that the world was going to end in Happy Guy Speak.  That’s my tell.  Fine, now you know.