A description of my blog. http://www.my-site.com 5128565721306538001 Too Clever by Half 2006/11/#5128565721306538001 2006-11-01 I like to think of myself as a pretty clever person. I spend a lot of my time thinking of really clever things to say, and contriving situations in which I could actually say them without seeming like I'm trying to demonstrate how clever I am. My goal is to be so clever that people think to themselves, "Gosh, he's clever, and the really remarkable thing is that he obviously wasn't even particulary trying to be clever, but is just naturally that clever all the time." Kind of like when you toss a wadded up piece of paper into a trash can from 20 feet away and you secretly think to yourself that as far as anyone knows who happens to be watching at that very moment, you're the god of wastebasketball. Often I'm so busy thinking of such clever things that before I know it I've accidentally driven three freeway exits past the office, which wouldn't be so bad except that it's Saturday and I was supposed to be driving to Target for cat food.

I'm not even the cleverest person in my family. I think I might be fourth, depending on whether you count the cats. My daughter Maddie, who is five, officially outsmarted me a few days ago. I was getting tired of her incessant whining, so in my infinite cleverness I decided to start whining right back at her. I mimicked her every pout and whimper, and eventually our exchange escalated into a cacophany of bitching. Finally she gave up, sobbing in exasperation. She retreated to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. My victory lasted for about 30 seconds. She quickly re-emerged, having fully regained her composure, and began whining all over again. I was no longer paying any attention, and failed to respond in kind. Frustrated at my silence, she implored, "Daddy, whine at me!" That's right, my daughter had made whining into a game. I turned to my wife for guidance, but she gave me the "you got yourself into this" look.

Yesterday I gave you a taste of the kind of things she comes up with. Here are a few more.

  • Age 3: After comparing fist sizes with her grandfather, she said, "Yours is bigger. How 'bout we check thumbs?"
  • Age 3: After eating a handful of cheerios, she climbed onto my lap and began playing with my ears. "You smell like Cheerios," I said. She responded, "Well you smell like earios!"
  • And finally, age 4: She and her brother were playing with toy food in their room. She came out, complaining that Will had eaten all the imaginary pie. I told her there was probably more imaginary pie. She replied indignantly, "There's imaginary crust."


Isn't that always how it is? So little imaginary pie, so much imaginary crust.

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