They say the first step to overcoming any problem is to first admit you have a problem. Let me take the first step. I have a problem. I'm an idiot. Lord, I feel better already. Like others before me, I've struggled trying to hide what was obvious to those around me. There's absolutely nothing wrong with being an idiot, or so I've been told. Only my stubbornness has kept me from admitting the truth, to myself and now to you. I feel as though an enormous weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I am finally free to be who I am.
I first became aware of my idiocy as a teenager. I remember when Ruthie Paramour, the best looking girl in the tenth grade, asked if she could slide her desk over next to mine and share my copy of Huckleberry Finn as she's forgotten hers. Instead of obeying my hormones and granting her request, I gave her my book and said, "Here ya go. You can just use my book today. I've already read this chapter." She wound up dating and marrying Hurley Bascomb and he can't even read. He got Ruthie though. I'm an idiot.
When I went away to college I found a whole new world in which to display by my idiocy. I was rapidly becoming an idiot's idiot. Somehow I managed to snag a rather wild and sexy girlfriend the first few weeks of classes. Of course I had no idea what to do with her. She was sending out every signal in her arsenal, trying to let me know I was hers for the taking. I was interpreting those signals to mean she was hungry, had a headache or wanted to be alone for a while. I remember the first time we were ever alone together she suggested I tie her to the bed and do whatever I wanted. Moron that I am I thought this an unusual request but, I really wanted to do right by her so I tied her to the bed and watched the Atlanta Braves play the Pittsburgh Pirates. When the game was over I asked her what she'd like to do next. I don't think I can do or even spell many of the things she told me to do. I'm an idiot.
Somehow I managed to court and eventually marry an amazing woman. I take no credit for this accomplishment. She's a very intelligent woman who realized early on I was an idiot and could be easily controlled. That must sound terrible but I really don't mind. Without her I'd have been killed years ago in some freakish lawnmower accident. I credit her with my continued existence and safety.
Shortly after we were married she decided to throw a casual dinner party for just a few of the couples we knew. While she ran to the grocery she gave me a simple task. Make tea. Being the macho husband I am I responded with what I hoped sounded like a reassuring, "I will!" Seems no I wouldn't. I've seen my wife make tea. She boils the water, throws in a few teabags, dumps in a little sugar, brings it to a boil, lets it simmer a while, tada, you've got tea. Right? Wrong. You have to remember at this point, I'm an idiot. I got the boiling water part right. Once it got rolling pretty good I put in 2 or 3 teabags. They looked so alone, I added 2 or 3 more. Eventually I wound up with 16 little bags bouncing around in boiling water. Next, add the sugar. At this point I realized I'd never actually seen how much sugar my wife added to the boiling tea but seems it was 3 scoops of one of these little measuring cup things. Guess what? Those little measuring cup things come in all sizes. I added a fair amount of sugar, at least the amount that looked right to me. Six full cups I believe it was. Last step, pour the tea into the tea pitcher after it'd steeped for a while, add enough water to fill up the rest of the pitcher, and you've got tea.
Have you ever tasted tea flavored mud? I have. I must not have boiled it long enough. I know I used enough teabags so it couldn't have been that. I decided I just needed to thin the tea down a little so, I got out another pitcher, poured half the tea in it, then, filled both pitchers the rest of the way with water. I'm getting there. Now I've got glue flavored tea. Much better than mud. To make this humiliating story shorter, I wound up with 24 containers of very, very sweet tea that was borderline drinkable. When my wife returned from the grocery she took one look at the kitchen table crowded with containers of tea and, smiling, let me know she understood. "You're an idiot". Gotta love her!
We now have children, five of them to be exact. The only reason we had children was my wife's desire to have others witness my idiocy. Without the children no one would believe half the stories she told about her husband. This way she can always turn to one of the boys and say, "Isn't that right?"
Before we installed central heat and air we made use of numerous window air conditioning units. They worked very well but were prone to blow fuses if too many were turned on at the same time. I was constantly traipsing down to the basement to replace blown fuses until I decided to teach the two oldest boys how to change the fuses themselves. It wasn't a week before a fuse let go. One of the boys flew down the basement stairs obvious anxious to show off his prowess at fuse-changing. A minute later I heard him yell and come stomping back up the stairs rubbing his hand and arm. "It shocked me!" he exclaimed. "Well, did you remember to turn off the power before you grabbed the fuse?" "No sir, I forgot." Wanting to prevent this from happening again I told him to get his bothers together and meet me in the basement. When they were gathered 'round and in my best 'father' voice I said, "Look guys, never reach your hand into the breaker box and grab any fuse unless you turn the power off first." As I was speaking I'd reached my hand out and grabbed one of the fuses. I hadn't turned off the power. When I woke up in the hospital my wife was by my side. She patted me on the left arm as my right arm was wrapped in bandages due to a severe second degree burn and smiling said, "You're an idiot". Ya gotta love her.