In one of DaisyFae's recent blogs, we discussed our high school nerd roots, mine run fairly deep. I didn't have a single date in high school. I was a lab assistant, multiple science fair winner, Audubon Society Award winner, Institute of Environmental Sciences winner, and member of the Dungeons and Dragon Club.
My prom date canceled on me 4 hours before I was supposed to pick her up, because her Mom, the cunt, didn't want her to go with me. Her mother didn't think any of her family should mix with mine, because neither of my parents had a college degree. That's totally true. You might well ask yourself, what kind of job did this woman have? Certainly, she was a lawyer? She wasn't...well, she had to have been a physicist then? Not exactly...oh, she was a tenured college professor? No, she was an Elementary School teacher, which should in no way be viewed as disrespect for school teachers.
Anyway, I digress from my original nerdly intentions. As I told DaisyFae, I used to sell Science Fair projects. They went $15 for a winner, and $10 for a regular project. I generally knew what would win. It had to demonstrate the scientific method. You had to identify your control, you needed multiple trials, and you had to cut down on variation that would affect your results. However, the pièce de résistance was if your results disproved your hypothesis, and you acknowledged it in your conclusion. The judges would get a big-old erection when they read it, and slap a ribbon on your project. I liked science and I liked money, so it was win-win for me.
I hearkened back to my nerdy days, this evening. On Saturday, I picked up a splinter at the theater. I hadn't done a good job getting it out, and by this evening it was festering. Tonight, I went down to my garage and dug my stereo-microscope out of storage. I stuck my wounded finger under the microscope; did I mention the microscope is fully illuminated? (Man, I bet DaisyFae is swooning right now!) I was able to locate the rest of the offending splinter and gently remove it with very fine-pointed tweezers. It already feels better.
As I go to sleep tonight, I imagine, In some other part of the country, that a far superior family must have to suck on their fingers and howl like fuckin' Proconsul africanus, whenever they get a splinter.