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Marrying Up


I’ve never dated dum-dums.  Looks and material goods were always secondary to brains for me–brains and a good sense of humor.  The dumbest man I ever dated was still a college graduate with a good grasp of his area of expertise.  The smartest man I ever dated, I married.  I think we have reproduced one that will at least match his intellect and his wit.  The Boy is better looking than both of us, so some girl is going to be very, very lucky once he gets over the whole cooties thing.

I studied Spanish from 6th grade through college.  In my early 20s, I used Spanish in my line of work, so I spoke with what I would call a working level of fluency.  I haven’t needed to use it in years, so it’s nearly all gone.  I understand better than half of what I hear and what I read, but I can’t speak it anymore.  It takes so long for me to retrieve the vocabulary and conjugate the verbs in my brain, that anyone trying to have a conversation with me has fallen asleep.  Don’t even get me started on how my accent has slipped.  I use French Rs, Russian vowels, and Italian Cs.  (Don’t take 4 languages at once.)

My husband and the majority of his friends are economic/political savants.   I used to be neck deep in politics and stayed well abreast of policy.  Now?  Well, I understand what they are talking about, but I’m no longer informed enough to carry on a conversation.  They may as well be speaking Spanish.  I can smile and nod (or look grim and nod, because no one smiles when talking politics, save for politicians), but I can’t contribute anything worthwhile.  It makes me feel like Penny from Big Bang Theory.

Ask me about shoes!

Don’t even do that.  I haven’t been up on shoe designers in 10 years.  I lost interest in them when the designer name became more important than the artistry of the shoe.  *cough*manoloblahnik*cough*

Ask me about makeup.

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Author:

Happy. That about covers it.

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