Smoldering Stupidity

Before I introduce a new installment of stupidity, I have to sweep away a few cinders that escaped the fire from last time’s episode. First, I’ve been asked how I came to choose a Mommy & Me (M&M) program inhabited mostly by The Stepford Wives? Blame it on my inexcusable naivete (1st time parent) or on my sheer stupidity (my informant sucked). I was told that this M&M was part of an exclusive pre-school operation that promised its pint-sized pupils would get into the best private schools. I believed this would virtually guarantee admission. My source? Obviously, a stuper (short again, for those hopelessly stupid persons).

Now to clarify what irrevocably cemented my exit from the school. If the mannequin moms hadn’t clinched it, this last scene certainly did.

The M&M class had one bathroom. That was fine. Except that my newly potty trained 26 month-old needed to use it now and then. Unfortunately, the toilet resembled one used in the outback by twenty bushmen accustomed to emptying their bowels in the first, most convenient, location. Every time we entered the bathroom, I heard the theme from Jaws.

So I paid a visit to the headmaster’s office. I discreetly asked the head, Miss Margot, whether the janitor could possibly engage in a more rigorous scrubbing. Or just a noticeable cleaning. A clearly irritated Miss Margot, narrowed her squinty eyes, obviously offended by my request. She informed me that said bathroom was sanitized daily. That was about as likely as my baking an apple pie underwater. I wanted a powder room, not a latrine. Miss M. was appalled that I’d dared speak out loud about so insensitive a subject.

So I left and strolled out to my car.

At the time, I drove a two-door, luxury sports car, leftover from my salaried studio days. It was one of those sets of wheels seldom seen by mortal eyes. Positively not the type Mommy and toddler would be driving.

As I approached the car, Miss Margot, who’d apparently kept her steely eyes on me since I exited, came bounding out of her office, hands flying over her head. She clip-clopped along in her size 10 Ferragamos, frantically calling out my name, “Mrs. G! Mrs. G! Waaaaaaaaait!”

My tot and I turned towards the hysterical figure. Scattered Stepford Wives lingering around their SUVs turned, smiling, towards the commotion.

“Yes?” I patiently responded.

“I’m so sorry about the toilette! I’ll make sure it’s cleaned daily. Thank you so much for bringing it to my attention. Anything else I can do for you?”

Needless to say, during this fawning monologue, she’d only glanced at me when necessary. The rest of the time, Miss Margot ogled the car.

“No, thank you,” I replied.

I drove off into the sunset seeking a more illumined vista. Was this not clear in-your-face stupidity? Was she trying to please the automobile or me? Initially, to Miss Margot, I mattered as much as a dust-mite sauntering about in her shawl. But standing next to the car, I appeared eminent and noteworthy; a tiara behind a glass case that she might have a chance to try on for a minute or two.

Why does stupidity insist on being so obvious at times? Answer: To help us reach important decisions in our lives. These stupers enabled me to realize that I needed to walk in a different direction in order to make the right things happen in my life. Leftover ambition from my attorney days caused me to be a bit overzealous when it came to my tot’s pre-education. I needed to redirect my ambition…and trade-in the car.

Thanks to what I learned in M&M, I found a wonderful, caring preschool where I enrolled my child. It even had a clean bathroom.

Despite leaving Miss Margot’s tutelage, my son did get into a private school, and I learned how never to be a Stepford Wife. Sometimes a brush with stupidity can end up leaving a positive trail behind. It certainly did for me.

Think about it!


3 Responses to “Smoldering Stupidity”

  1. emily says:

    This is hilarious! The theme from jaws? Was this by any chance a school in the san fernando valley? I think I know the place.

  2. karen anne says:

    Is this Miss Margo a real person? If yes, then truth is stranger than fiction. She had me laughing out loud!

  3. Keli says:

    No, the School for Children of Stepford Wives that I went to was just south of Los Angeles, near the beach. I’m sure the SF Valley has its share.

    Karen Anne: Miss Margo is a real person, albeit a counterfeit one.
    Thanks for reading!

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