About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.
Monday, September 8, 2008
I don't know whose dog this is, but he just asked, "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?"
I love stupid questions.
Just last week, when our friends were over, we were discussing my wild and crazy days as an undergrad in Amherst, Mass. (I did go a little nuts…which is why I transferred schools in the middle of the semester, right after my dorm room caught on fire—it wasn’t my fault, I swear.)
My friend asked, “What college did you go to in Amherst?”
I said, “UMass.”
So, we’re all on the same page here, right? Amherst. UMass.
But then my friend asked, “Which campus did you go to?”
I waited a minute. “Uuuummmmm, Boston?” Then I gave him a big slap for being so stupid.
But hey, we’ve all asked stupid questions. And because I am so secure in my noggin’s capabilities, I’ll share a few of my own.
In high school, I once asked my French teacher, “Do dogs bark differently in France?”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized how idiotic my question was. I mean, how did I think they barked? Le arf, le arf, le arf?
Pretty recently I asked my dad, “Do trains have steering wheels?”
No. It turns out that trains do not have steering wheels. They are not like the rides at Disneyland—you know, the ones where the vehicle follows a track but you can still steer a little? Nope, not at all.
Another time, I asked my dad (yes, recently), “Why is Chicago called the windy city?”
In all fairness to me, it’s not solely because the city is so damned windy. It’s because the politicians were full of hot air and it says so right here. So, hah!
I'm curious—really!—what’s the stupidest question you’ve ever asked?
(P.S. You can't leave me hanging here! I'm a harried mom with thin skin...I cry easily! I will drown my sorrows in cheap gin and Pinwheels.)