"No offence, my love, but you really weren't a bright kid," he says after I tell my friends about how I refused to drink Dr. Pepper as a child because I thought it would be... well... pepper-y.
In all seriousness, someone should tell the Dr. pepper people what's up. I wasn't the only person in that room who at one time absolutely refused to drink pop named "Dr. Pepper" that was "made with 23 flavours." That's way too may flavours, and I would have sworn that one of those flavours was pepper. It's cute when it's magical jelly beans; not so much when it's a beverage.
He's said that a few times before, such as when I recounted the epic battles I used to have with my dog over her dog food, how as a child I developed a craving for soap, and how I once purposefully stepped on a rake in the name of science.
I was much older than I should have been. I was playing in the front yard while my step father did yard work, idly chatting with the neighbourlady. There was a rake laying on the ground. I pondered its rake-y form for a while, donning a scholarly air. After some time of applying what little physics and logic I knew, I evidently concluded that the whole cartoon imagery of stepping on a rake and having it fling up and hit your face was undeniably false. To test my conclusion I tested the rake.
I had a bruised face for a week and a bruised ego for a year.
Looking back, I have to agree. As a child I was a loner, introspective, talkative, curious, and exceedingly dense. I mean, I know children are all kinds of dumb, but it seems that my own level of childhood stupidity surpassed the average. I did the usual dumb kid things - hurt myself climbing and falling and performing poorly at arithmetic. But I also had a gleam of ingenious stupidity, leading to beautifully subtle conclusions such as "The water is blue because it reflects the sky, and the sky is blue because it reflects the water; therefore God."
Once the seeds are planted, it appears there's nothing that can be done to save you. Those hearty seeds of stupidity have flourished in the fertile soil of my day-dreamy mind, and occasionally the fruits bear themselves gloriously. My own stupidity is stunning at times, but that is a story for another day. For many other days, in fact.