Sometimes I feel like a moron, but people tell me I’m fine.

Sometimes I feel fine, but people tell me I’m a moron.

I’m not sure whose opinion I should trust. I’ve decided to spend the rest of my life researching this important topic. I began collecting data this morning and the early score is:

MORON: 1

NOT MORON: 0

I know I shouldn’t be too alarmed. This contest has just begun, but you should know that I am quite concerned that, if the season ended today, I would be scientifically classified as a moron, putting to rest any chance of not being a moron, which is what I would prefer.

Perhaps I should explain how moron jumped to an early lead:

I was in my bedroom doing pushups when the mother of one of my daughter’s friends arrived to drop off her daughter. I came out to get a drink of water while she spoke to my wife in the living room.

Now, just to clarify, architects often refer to the living room as the great room, but I think that’s moronic. I don’t think they should be able to make value judgments about various rooms. In fact, my living room is not that great at all. If I were going to call anything a “great room” it would be my bedroom. Truthfully, my bedroom is nothing to write home about, but my bed is in it. I sleep in my bed. Sleeping is wonderful. I did a bunch of it just last night, but, as you will soon learn, perhaps not quite enough.

The woman speaking to my wife looked in my direction, referred to me by name, gave her name and said that it was nice to meet me.

I have been forcing myself of late, when meeting others, to look them in the eyes and give them a firm handshake. I immediately made my way towards her to charm her with my calculated people skills.

When I was only six inches from this woman, while looking her in the eyes and with my right hand fully extended into classic handshaking form, my big toe on my bare right foot gripped the carpet, folded up under my foot and sent me immediately to the ground. My eyes that were previously directed at hers were now pointed to the ground, which was now much closer to my head than it was just one second before. My hand that was just extended into impressive handshaking shape now grabbed onto my big, idiot toe.

When I dared to look up, my wife had her hand over her mouth, possibly to express sympathy after my accident, but probably just to suppress her laughter. The lady I was attempting to impress seemed overwhelmed by the situation. How do you prepare yourself for something like this? What’s the correct thing to say?

I quickly got back up, said, “Now let’s try this again.” I hid my pain behind a smiling face and shook her hand as I told her that it was nice to meet her. I have learned in standup comedy that if you have a strong opening and conclusion that people usually forget the stuff in the middle.

Unfortunately, this was not standup comedy. It wasn’t even standing up.

And just to express how seriously screwed up my mind has become of late, I need to tell you that my ultimate concern was not whether my toe was broken or with my dorky attempt at hospitality. I was relieved to have finally found a topic for this week’s humor column.

If my readers are to learn anything from this embarrassing situation it is that each one of you should start writing your own humor column. Then, whenever you do something moronic, you will immediate benefit from it

Plus, I can read about it and feel better about the stupid things that I do.

Hey! That’s a pretty great idea!

MORON: 1

NOT MORON: 1