From the 'I Carried a Watermelon' File

'I carried a watermelon.'

~ Baby, "Dirty Dancing"

I have an above average I.Q. At least I did at age six when my mother had me tested. I wasn't Mensa material, but I landed somewhere a few standard deviations north of dumb. I'm sure my mother was relieved after the bead-stringing incident that nearly kept me out of kindergarten (I refused to string beads; the teachers thought I was backwards and couldn't do it. And recommended that I be held out of school another year. Bull shit. I could do it. I just hated stringing beads. Still do). I can just see my mother raising her finger (pointer, not middle) in the air and saying a very loud, "Ha!" when she got the results, "I told you my kid was not dumb!" Ah, vindication. Of course there was the moment when I was about two that she herself thought I was either color blind or just plain dumb. She'd ask me to pick up a blue block and I'd pick up a red one. Then she'd ask me for a green one only to have me pick up a blue one. When she saw me slyly hiding a smile, she figured out I wasn't color blind. I think the jury was still out for her until that I.Q. test came back. Whew.

It's truly unfortunate that life and pretty girls have dumbed me down. Now more than thirty-five years later I occasionally doubt my intelligence. Most often these moment come after muttering or uttering something nearly unintelligible or just plain fucking stupid in front of some stunning girl I'm trying (hopelessly) to impress. The first words Baby said to her dream guy in "Dirty Dancing"? 'I carried a watermelon'. All while still carrying said watermelon (if memory serves). Of course, Baby eventually got the guy (Remember 'Nobody puts Baby in a corner'?). Which would give me hope if I were pursuing guys. Guys are dumb, but pretty girls? Eh, I'm screwed. If I keep opening my mouth.

Therefore yesterday I attempted a whole different method. She was pretty. I'd even argue that she was beautiful - deep brown eyes, great smile, nice arms with a thin, athletic body, quiet intelligence, fun sense of humor. Ordinarily a girl like that would have had me stumbling all over myself trying to see how fast I could get to dumb. Ordinarily. However, I told myself that I was going to avoid the usual embarrassment. I wasn't going to stick my foot in my mouth. No, Ma'am. How would I accomplish this nearly impossible feat? I would remain silent. Perfectly and completely silent. I would only speak if spoken to and keep my comments short and to the point. I hoped I would not be required to elaborate beyond one or two one or two syllable words. I figured the chances of actually having to speak were slim. Pretty girls never speak to me. So, all I would have to do was appreciate her from afar and keep my mouth shut. Great plan. Finally, I was putting my above average I.Q. to good use.

I successfully kept my distance. Until she sat near me. I immediately shut up and let others do the talking. She got up after a moment and went back inside. Success. I ended up sitting near her while we were eating, but again I let everyone else talk. Success. I joined a group she was part of a short while later. I remained silent. Success.

As I think about it, though, this isn't the most perfect plan. Now she either thinks I'm mute, stuck-up, or dumb. I suppose part of me is happy that I left a ray of doubt in her mind about my intelligence level, but I passed up a couple really good opportunities to talk to a pretty girl. Dammit. And as I really think about it, I did speak to her once. I saw her standing next to me waiting to get food. I grabbed a Styrofoam plate for myself then turned to her and asked........ 'Need a plate?'. Wow. The sum total of my interaction with the pretty girl yesterday involved a Styrofoam plate. By my math, that's only slightly better than 'I carried a watermelon'. At least I was being polite.

Christ on a trampoline. Maybe I should get my I.Q. checked again. I'm skeptical that I really am above average. Too much sunlight? Too much artificial sweetener? Or was I born this way and the previous test was wrong? Hell if I know. My luck a pretty girl would be doing the testing and then I'd never know. Is it me? Am I dumb? Or is it pretty girls that make me dumb? For all I know, it's both. I hope she doesn't ask me to string beads. I don't care how pretty she is. I'm not going to do it. I can, but I just don't like to.