Actually, now that I think about it, the kids are pretty canny. Zoe’s doing really well in school, and reading a couple of years above her level, James is due to start school next year, and Luc is capable of breaking into anything that interests him. And their brains are growing, while mine is shrinking…
But at least I’m smarter than the cats. Except, well, they’ve got it pretty cushy, which is smart. And even the dumb one might be autistically brilliant, in that Rain Man kind of way. So I might drop down the list somewhat.
Still, I’m smarter than the chooks. I don’t peck at my own excrement, for a start.
In any case, no matter where I sit on the intelligence scale, my beloved and beautiful wife is currently Queen of the Braindom, especially as she just got herself a credit and distinction for two of her university assignments. It’s particularly notable, as she did this while simultaneously getting by on around three hours sleep, dealing with a sick husband and sick kids, and keeping the house running at the same time. I can’t compete with that kind of brainpower.
Hang on. She’s really pretty, too. And she bakes a mean cupcake. What exactly do I bring to the relationship?
Possible answers: breadwinning. impressive sense of humour. hung like the proverbial.
And I’m sorry, but everyone is smarter than Harriet. Probably including the chooks.
A range of things – including the list suppled by your brother.
As long as no one suggests I have a sick house for every assignment to keep that mark level up.
One could always argue that at least one member of the household is always “sick”, though not in the viral or bacterial sense. I still recall that the individual who shall not be named had a “tasteless quota” that was regularly exceeded, occasionally by weeks at a time.
Certain, um, personal attributes I will leave well enough alone, thank you very much.