Gifted, My Ass

STEP ONE: Put fan power switch in the OFF position.

ME: I finally figured it out. The reason you’re coughing and snotty and all plague-like sounding is because you have allergies. I think we should clean your room really well.

UBER-GENIUS GIFTED CHILD: That’s probably a good idea, Mother. I’m so lucky to have a smart parent like you. (shut up, this is my version of the conversation)

ME: Let’s open up the windows, air things out, get it smelling fresh and… HOLY SHIT look at that dust on your ceiling fan! No wonder you’re sneezing! You have to wipe all that dust off!

UBER-GENIUS GIFTED CHILD: I can’t reach up there. But you’re still supremely amazingly smart for suggesting it. (I already told you to shut up.)

ME: Stand on your bed, then you’ll be able to reach it.

UBER-GENIUS GIFTED CHILD: But I can only reach this blade right here. The rest of them are too far to reach. And you’re pretty, too.

ME: The ceiling fan spins, honey. You’ll be able to reach the other fan blades.

UBER-GENIUS GIFTED CHILD: Won’t the fan hurt me if I try to wipe it while it’s turned on?

It would be amazing and incredible and made of bunnies if this conversation had not happened exactly the way I just depicted it. I want a refund on my taxes because the public school system is obviously wasting the money that we give them for gifted programs on things like urinal cakes in the boys’ locker room.