Blonde to the Core

by Anna Jones Buttimore

I have a very dear schoolfriend staying at the moment. Ruth is the person who first introduced me to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. If you know my conversion story, you'll know that I spent the next five years trying to "rescue" her from the "cult". Happily I failed, and she is now Relief Society president of her ward in Wyoming where she lives with her RM Institute teacher husband and six gorgeous children. I don't see her very often, so it is lovely to be able to catch up.

She was telling me that all her friends seem to be very intelligent people. I couldn't help thinking that she really shouldn't count me as intelligent since, while I do have a degree, I seriously lack common sense and have regular "blonde moments". (A small aside here: I use the word intelligent rather than smart, which I know Americans would be more likely to use, for the avoiudance of confusion. Over here, smart means well dressed. So when President Hinckley told us to "Be Smart", us Brits assumed he was suggesting we wear our best clothes to church.)

With nothing much else to blog about (Ruth only arrived a couple of days ago, so we haven't had that many adventures yet) I suppose it's time to treat everyone to the evidence that I am indeed blonde to the core.

• Playing Dungeons and Dragons a couple of weeks ago (yes, I am a nerd too) my DM husband was outlining the layout of the dungeon our characters were in. "There is a door in the East wall, and a passageway to the North." I was sitting the other side of the table from everyone else, so I asked "And where are the door and passageway from my perspective?" At which point my husband had to explain to me that points of the compass are constant, wherever you happen to be sitting.
• My friend Suzy has two friends called Sarah. One I met several years ago, and took quite a dislike to. Something to do with the way she criticised my housekeeping, I seem to remember, but I hadn't seen her since and had forgotten what she looked like. The other had a brother called Andrew who I knew quite well, although I had never had the opportunity to meet his sister. One day I called on Suzy to find that Sarah was already visiting. After Suzy introduced us I warmly greeting Sarah with the words, "You must be Andrew's sister, not that other bossy cow Sarah Suzy knows. I'm so happy to meet you." To which Sarah replied, "I haven't got a brother..."
• I regularly call my children by the wrong names. I expect other people mix up their children's names too, but I have been known to call them the cats' names.

Other people can be very dumb too, though. Leaving a car park in the town of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwll-llantysioliogogogoch one afternoon I reversed over a traffic cone. Not my fault; the cone had been put in a blind spot behind my car after I had parked there. Finding it firmly wedged, I got out my mobile phone and called the AA. (That's the Automobile Association, not Alcoholics Anonymous - I was sober at the time.) They said it would take them about half an hour to reach me, so I got out my cross-stitch and sat in the driver's seat sewing while I waited. What I found truly amazing was the sheer number of people who would stop to tell me, "Did you know you have a traffic cone stuck under your car?" To which I replied, "No, really?" After all, why else would I be stationary in the middle of a busy road, doing my embroidery?

And, whilst I hope Ruth will forgive me, she can have her blonde moments too. During her last visit she fell in love with a three-foot high bronze statue of Peter Rabbit which she wanted to buy to take home with her. I suggested that something so big, made of bronze, might be a tad over her 50 lb. baggage limit for the return flight. Happily, the shopkeeper was able to inform her that it was actually made of cleverly painted cement. "Oh good!" she cried, and was about to part with money when I explained that cement is still extremely heavy. Tourists are generally not advised to try taking huge blocks of cement home in their luggage.

However intelligent we are as a general rule, everyone has moments when they are just daft. I love those moments; they keep us laughing and stop us getting too proud. I'm glad I'm blonde - whenever I am stupid, I can blame my hair colour. What's your excuse?