More often than not, I question my own smartness.
I wonder if it I’m coming down with some sort of environmental retardation that hand sanitizer can’t kill.
I mean, I thought I was generally intelligent. I can spell my own name and fill out rudimentary forms. I know enough to wear clean underwear in case of an accident and sometimes I think I have TiVo figured out. But the other day my confidence was dealt a serious blow.
Truth be told, this kind of thing is happening more often than I’d like to admit but to hell with pride and shame. I might as well us these idiotic vignettes to my advantage since I’ve taken the time and effort to keep this blog going in all its self-indulgent glory.
“The Incident” as it shall be known henceforth, went a little something like this: (names have been changed to protect the intelligent and formatting is not within industry standard)
INT. RESTAURANT – DAY
TWO COUPLES, a PROUD GRANDMOTHER, a 2-YEAR OLD and ME occupy a large round table. A high chair adorns one end.
You know, our little Cally here took swimming lessons this summer.
She points to the beautiful 2-YEAR OLD who is deeply focused on picking up minuscule pieces of chicken between her thumb and forefinger.
Cool! I love to see kids in those little blow-up water wings.
Oh, no! She doesn’t wear those things!
That’s a little scary. One time I saw this National Geographic special about how infants naturally hold their breath underwater. I thought it was kind of disturbing seeing week old infants being tossed into the deep end of an Olympic-size swimming pool. But come to think of it, they DID hold their breath. And they sort of did this little dog-paddling thing that I found even harder to watch. I don’t know, they just didn’t seem to…well….have any choice. The concept seemed a little out there for my taste. Then again, those catchy phrases like “sink or swim” had to come from somewhere, right?
Well, that’s not how they do it these days. When the babies cry, the teacher just dunks them under and they stop. They get used to it after a while.
Okay. That sounds so much better.
The Proud Grandmother reaches for her cell phone and opens it.
She goes underwater, eyes open, mouth open grinning ear to ear. She can dive clear to the bottom and back up again.
The Proud Grandmother hands me the cell phone on which there is a darling picture of a smiling 2-year old, eyes wide open floating weightless in crystal clear, chlorinated splendor.
And I thought to myself….I wonder how they managed to get that cell phone under the water to snap that picture.
When I accidentally dropped mine in the toilet, it stopped working.