I've always had this thing about being correct. I enjoy it, I really do. This week Manfriend and I went to a movie. I told Manfriend that we should go to We Bought A Zoo because Mark Wahlberg was in it. Mark Wahlberg and I have had sort of a secret relationship, ever since Mother and I happened upon him in Boston on a family vacation. I threw myself at him and his body guard had to pry me off of his arm. I feel like this was a bit unnecessary as I could tell Mark Wahlberg's feelings were mutual.
|Mother managed to get a picture, much like this, before I got flung off of My Beloved and pinned to the ground by security. It was a good day.|
I went to work the next day and told Coworker that Manfriend made me go to The Grey, but I had wanted to see We Bought A Zoo because I love Mark Wahlberg.
Coworker: Why would you go to We Bought A Zoo then?
Me: Because I love Mark Wahlberg. I just said that.
Coworker: Matt Damon is the main character in the zoo movie. Mark Wahlberg isn't even in it.
Me: Uh, yeah. He is.
I ran to my computer to prove her completely wrong and much to my frustration, Matt Damon is indeed the lead in the zoo movie. I know, I know. They look nothing alike. Whatever. I was....wrong.
|Mark Wahlberg. We are tight.|
Fortunately, I am rarely wrong, so I don't have to swallow that bitter pill very often. In fact, this Mark Walhberg/Matt Damon situation was really only the second time I was wrong in my entire life. The first time was Valentines Day '92.
That year, my elementary school teacher told the class to bring paper sacks to school for a project we were going to do. Clearly a project involving brown paper sacks meant that we were making hand puppets. Our teacher did not state that this, but as per usual, I was one step ahead of the other students. She didn't have to tell me. I already knew. In fact, she was probably testing us. She was looking for the most clever among us who could identify a paper bag puppet project when they saw one. She wanted to weed out the intelligent and resourceful from the elementary school duds.
When it came time for the paper bag project, our teacher encouraged us to decorate the bags however we liked. As expected, the simpletons in my class started drawing juvenile pictures on their sacks. I assumed, by this time, she would have just accepted that they were failures and told them that we were actually making puppets so they didn't totally ruin their projects. Why wasn't she telling them that we were really making puppets?!? They were mutilating their bags with their cutesy hearts and stars and little rocket ships! Oh well, what did I care? They would all look foolish when she finally told them how we were really using the sacks.
I turned my bag upside down and carefully drew a face and clothes on my puppet. I even sketched his little red throaty bobber so it would be extra realistic when he opened his mouth wide to tell a joke. I named him Mr. Binkles. He looked like a Mr. Binkles. I could sense the other kids watching me and Mr. Binkles. They knew I was highly intelligent and creative. They were envious of my ability to comprehend what they could not.
I felt shame. My puppet made a preposterous Valentine sack. I wanted to hide under my desk every time a Valentine was shoved into the rear end of Mr. Binkles. Our teacher simply lacked vision. A paper bag should obviously be used as a puppet.