I find flattery confusing.
I am not immune to it.
When someone flatters me, I blush and giggle like a school girl.
That is, if I buy it.
If I don’t buy it, I’ll either give a cold hard stare or a cool impassive “Thank you.”
But a good flatterer flatters with the truth – or the kernel of a truth.
Someone with flattering skill will butter you up with your own sauce and you’ll like it, too.
The artless flatterer will be obvious about it – flatter you for something you know isn’t true or overdo the kernel, if there is one.
The real flatterers that I watch out for now are the ones who really mean it. The ones for whom flattery is their first language. The ones who build me up beyond reality, the ones who are convinced that I will change everything, that I’m a savior, that I’m different from everyone else. This sort of flattery screams caution to me now – because those that would build me up quickly will just as quickly tear me down.