While setting up a new computer for me, my husband actually said, "I plan to dummy-proof this for you."
Yes: "dummy" and "you" in the same sentence.
It must be said that this statement follows one particularly difficult week in which I
(a) did not properly attach the cap to our bottle of honey, which in turn made said cap fall into his food, along with more than a serving size of the condiment, and
(b) failed to fully turn the knob of the wine box, which began a Biblical flood at the base of the box, found 24 hours later, rendering our cabinet a robust aroma with notes of cherry and dark berries, ending with a smoky finish.
I recall that when I took the test in What Color Is Your Parachute? my parachute did not lean toward machines or equipment of any kind. I should work with ideas, the test said.
And yet these ubiquitous parts of life stymie me every day. Right now, for example, I'm eating my oatmeal in a bowl that's seated on a plate. It's on a plate because the oatmeal itself exploded all over the microwave, and the plate catches the stuff dripping down the sides. I'll eat the rest.
This is not the first time it's happened.
I'd like to think that all this evidence points more toward genius, not dummy.
After all, I'm smart enough to keep the oatmeal plate/bowl away from my new computer.