OK folks, this is where you all come to learn that the game is up. Yes, Kim and Bec are breeders. Yes, we are friends. Yes we have a similar take on the world, similar political leanings, similar parenting beliefs/styles and opinions on the whole work/family/what-a-joke balance debate. We both love to cook, drink copious amounts of wine and remember fondly a time of being thinner, younger and surely not so perpetually broke.
But this thing, this thing about riddles – well, its a wheat from chaff thing. A chance for you all to come to see in the cold hard light of words on a screen that Bec has that sort of intelligence. The one where not only can she be witty and drop in erudite references to literary texts to make her point, but would actually be able to use the word erudite in a more appropriate way. The sort that loves riddles. Because they’re fun and silly.
To me, a riddle strikes a fear similar to balloons, clowns and people dressed in any form of animal or crazy company logo costume (I put this solely down to going to Disneyland when I was three and being accosted by the Big Bad Wolf when we’d barely got through the gates. Seriously, what sort of on-the-job training had that lunatic had? I mean you.are.the.B.I.G.B.A.D. wolf – probably not a good idea to rush kids and bear hug them as they walk into the park. DOFUS) – I mean even cheer leaders scare me but that may be a hairspray/make-up/lipgloss/waxing/white boot related kinda issue.
ANYWAY, back to Bec, the sort that probaly loves crosswords and worse – cryptic ones and even worse – probably gets answers. The sort that does the soduko (I’m married to someone who does that as well. We’re working through it.) The sort that plays scrabble – and makes a night of it (Chef still laughs and laughs about the night we played travel scrabble on our ill-fated all-we-ate was stale bread and vegemite and slept on those camping mats now commonly referred to as yoga mats camping trip when we’d been together for 6 months. The same night he beat me so resolutely, so profoundly we have never.ever.played.it.again. to the point that no scrabble board is even is allowed in our house.)
People, this is a genetic thing.
I am devoid of this gene. In fact, I am so devoid of it, its devoidness in me rivals the impact Oscar’s entire dodgy chromosome has on his ability to talk. Seriously. I look at these kind of things and am rendered so completely and utterly stupid it impresses the most resolute village idiots. What makes this worse of course, is that the answer is always ALWAYS so freaking obvious. “Ahh, of course!” (insert chortle here as Kim just slinks away with her devoid gene dunceness.) The same thing applies to the scrabble issue – I may well have letters to spell somehting quite profound and point-scoring, but instead will only see words like bed, or nip or dig or lot. I am not kidding.
Oh I can hear you all now – “no no, its just practice!”, “don’t be ridiculous!” So you want some proof of my village idiot riddle status? Recently Felix had this running gag – the one about “Are you smart enough to take the Kindergarten test?” which was then followed by “what colour is the sky?” and “what colour is the grass?” and then “what was the first question I asked you?” The answer of course (of course!) is – “Are you smart enough to take the Kindergarten test?”. I replied (naturally!) with “what colour is the sky” – oh the delight on my child’s face at being smarter than his mother at the mature age of 5. That look – his sheer joy at catching me out, went about a milimetre to alleviating the hideous pit-in-my-stomach “I am so stupid, so very very stupid” that was only being heightened by Mum and Chef’s laughter. Oh how they laughed and laughed.