I feel stupid. A lot.
There are many times when I find myself wondering if I am, in fact, the dumbest person on the planet. It could be after yanking on a door that has been outfitted with a large “PULL” sign. It might be after spilling coffee on my pants in a way that, to the untrained eye, makes me appear as if I have lost all control of my bladder. It might be ten minutes ago when my computer died and I had to begin rewriting this entire post from the beginning.
Whatever the cause, I have also assumed that the only thing that could make me look stupider than my normal behavior is being around other people who are way out of my league intelligence-wise. I have never been around a “Jeopardy” champion, but I assume that I would be lost the minute the conversation steered towards Ancient Roman Architectural achievements. I would just start shouting “Aqueducts! They made aqueducts!” because that is the only thing I remember from eighth grade history class.
Yes, being around brilliant minds would surely make me look like a complete moron. I had always assumed that rocket scientists, brain surgeons, and, after seeing the movie “Good Will Hunting,” MIT janitors would all leave me in the dust brain-wise.
As it turns out, that may not actually be the case.
The story takes place, like all good stories, in Florida. A woman, Mary Naam, and her boyfriend, brain surgeon Steve Carr, were enjoying a delightful romp on the beach. At least, they were on the beach. I don’t know for sure that romping was involved, but I would assume there was at least the thought of romping passing through their minds.
Mary had been dating Steve for quite some time. They were so happy. Mary’s parents loved Steve, no doubt bragging to their friends, “Mary is dating a BRAIN surgeon now! He is so smart. You know, you have to go to school for a very long time to become a BRAIN surgeon!” Their friends would hang their heads in shame, not bringing up the Hell’s Angel that their daughter had just accompanied to Sturgis. Brain surgeons are much more respected than a criminal on a motorcycle.
After dating for quite some time (Somewhere between a month and seventy years. I’m not too sure on the specifics.), Steve decided it was time to move things to the next level. After consulting his chart of relationship levels, he realized that the next inevitable step was marriage.
So Steve set out, looking for the perfect ring. He went into ring store after ring store, salesmen spouting off nonsense about clarity or cut. Steve, of course, knew exactly what he wanted. He didn’t need help from a man in a cheap suit to find the ideal hand accessory. He is a very smart man, after all. He is a brain surgeon!
Ring in hand, Steve set out to the beach to propose. He had a brilliant plan in mind and pulled up to the beach, ready to move into the land of fiancéedom. He ran through his mental checklist: Ring? Check. Beach supplies for a fun and ultimately romantic beach date? Check. His girlfriend?
Realizing he had forgotten Mary, he turned the car around. A proposal isn’t going to go well if you have no one to propose to.
After an evening of fun, Steve set the plan into action. Distracting Mary (“Hey Mary! Look over there!”), he pulled the ring from his pocket and, very carefully buried it in the sand. This was the perfect plan. It was completely brilliant. After all, he is a brain surgeon. Brain surgeons are always brilliant.
With a bit of coaxing, Mary began to dig. Steve was giddy with excitement, nearly giggling like a schoolgirl at the thought that she was about to find the ring. She dug and…
She tried another spot, but still nothing. Suddenly, Steve had a thought. The beach is large. On the large beach, there is a lot of sand. The ring was somewhere in that sand, but he had forgotten where, exactly, it had been placed. He tried to navigate through the beach in his mind, but beaches being much larger than brains, Steve was completely out of his element.
People from around the beach gathered to help the, now slightly panicked, brain surgeon look for his lost proposal tool. They dug and dug before calling a professional ring finding service (Actual thing. Not making it up.) who quickly found the ring. Steve proposed and Mary, ignoring the fact that she had just spent a great deal of time digging through sand and now, most likely, had it stuck in every crevice of her body, said yes.
I may not be able to perform brain surgery, but I am very good at not losing jewelry. My proposal went off without a hitch simply because I was smart enough to not bury the ring in anything. If I was ever in a room with a brain surgeon and they began spouting off about frontal lobes and the brain cortex, I would not feel stupid anymore. All I would have to say is “At least I can propose right, you dummy.” Then, that brain surgeon’s shoulders would droop and he would walk away ashamed.
I can officially declare myself smarter than a brain surgeon. I will be adding that to the special skills section of my résumé immediately.
The Jeopardy contestant would still make me feel stupid, though. I don’t even know what an aqueduct is.