Dufus (Dufi for the random group) of the Day Award. Actually, I call it Dumba$$ of the Day but I don’t want to offend those who don’t like raw language. I can respect that.
So what is the DOTD? It’s for those who commit acts that are especially heinous in their stupidity. As my mother used to say, there are no stupid questions, only stupid people with mouths capable of speech. Her point? What? You think an idiot suddenly develops a brain at the exact moment a question formulates in their mind? Obviously Mom’s pet peeve was the phrase: “there are no stupid questions.” She’d invariably shoot back with, “well honey, good for you that you don’t live on planet Moronia with the rest of us” or “there are no stupid questions, only stupid people asking them.”
You know these people; we all do (hey, copyeditor, I actually do know how and when to use a semicolon without your help). They’re the ones where you’d have on your Arby’s brown and tan double knit polyester uniform (in the heat of a Georgia summer, I might add), and they’d come up to you and ask, “Do you work here?”
“No. I enjoy wearing fast-food uniforms in hideous colors every time I leave the house, ‘cause let’s face it, I was raised with eight boys and my dignity and self-esteem haven’t been damaged thoroughly enough for one lifetime. Thank you for asking.”
And sad to say, I have on occasion been a DOTD Award recipient. I’m still feeling the pain of the last time I earned that honor on Mardi Gras. Never, ever slice beneath your fingernail with a razor sharp blade while telling your son that your knives are sharp. Here we are months later and said wound still hurts every time I type or use my finger… Oh wait, what do I do for a living???? I type :) There’s a gift that keeps on giving. Next year, I’m buying Zatarain’s for dinner.
Back to topic. So how does one nominate and celebrates the DOTD Award? You call up your buds and compare notes on who had the worst encounter of the day. Then you commiserate and finally go, “well, at least it wasn’t me who said or did something that stupid.” Unless it was you, then you might want to hang your head and tell your friends it was your Aunt Bob who did it. Save whatever dignity you can.
Unfortunately, this process will repeat itself the next day not long after you get up. I have a little game I play called “let’s see how long I can be up before I get assaulted with outright fatuousness.” I think my record is fifteen minutes.
Let’s go for twenty, shall we?