The Art of Conversation
Okay, here we go.
Kristen Wiig used to do a skit on SNL as the character Penelope; a one-upper who twirls her hair and does everything better than everyone, twice.
LuAnn and I were having quite a go at it, this show. Her mother had more kids, her friend is a better masturbater, she did gymnastics and played softball and wrote a book, too, and had babies and also her brother had twins.
I used to be obsessed with IQ tests. They used to be all over the internet, promising to reveal hidden genius, and I took them over and over hoping to hit intellectual pay dirt with some off-the-chart score. But in all the years, all the tests, I could never beat 119. According to the IQ bell curve, this puts me very solidly in the range of average intelligence.
I’m no Sharon Stone, still, I do know that a book is not a baby. I know that I did not push my novel through a birth canal and out my vagina. I know that publishing a work of fiction is not exactly the same as delivering a ten-pound human, epidural or not. I was using an analogy. An analogy so old that Plato used it when he "gave birth" to the theory of Platonic Love, and Plato has a penis.
The point is, maybe my EQ is a little lower than my IQ, but it was the last night of a long trip. My hair was precariously in place with its side part and powder. And I found LuAnn's conversation skills to be. . .grating.