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Mensa Party
Have you ever felt like the stupidest person in the room?
“Sorry,” our young visitor has said three or four times along with “Oh, I don’t think my opinion counts for much,” and “I’m not that smart, really.”
This last utterance was in a throaty whisper to the one man at this party I’d really like to get to know. He’s a head taller than I am, physically powerful, and beautiful — yes, absolutely beautiful. Radiantly healthy. Luxurious dark hair to caress. Muscles barely contained in a tight white polo shirt. Arms I imagine lifting me up and carrying me over the threshold and right into my fantasy.
But, he always ignores me in favor of the younger things who gather around him at every Mensa party. I’ve noticed he usually picks brainy and buxom. He seems to be making an exception to the brainy part for a pair of exuberant breasts in not enough of a pink blouse.
By now, I’ve had it with listening to this woman apologize and decide to take myself and my glass of wine out to the folks on the lawn.
I do feel for the woman, though. I’d feel uncertain, too, if I thought I were the stupidest person in the room, even if Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome were refreshing and re-refreshing my drink.
Anyway, enough! I stride right past the two of them and head energetically out…
