Those of you who know Bobal would probably agree that she is very, very intelligent. 11 GCSE’s (10 A grade or higher), 5 A levels at college, a degree and fully qualified as a solicitor. Suffice to say detailing my equivalent qualifications wouldn’t use quite so many characters. Finished high school… just. That’s it.
Her brain works at a level and speed that I can’t even begin to understand. More to the point I don’t think I would want to. I enjoy living in my oblivious bubble of stupidity far too much. With her detective like attention to detail and occasionally seemingly supernatural level of intuition; she really is one of, if not the smartest, person I know.
However, book smart and street smart are two completely different things. Being well read and common sense are undoubtedly at opposing ends of the intelligence spectrum. And evidently the senses of a common variety were being strictly rationed on the day of her glorious creation.
To give you a flavour of what I mean I would like to bring your attention to her geography skills. North, south, east and west seem to disorientate my wifey with a comical ease. We live slap bang in the middle of England yet Bobal still to this day will go up south to Scotland or down north to London?!?
Even whilst walking (be it in the city or countryside) she can become hilariously disorientated. When faced with 50/50 left or right directional decisions, she will impressively choose the wrong way 99% of the time. Even out of sheer dumb luck she should get it right more often. She defies logic and basic odds. It’s clear to me that her internal compass yearns for serious and extensive re-calibration however this is just the beginning.
The amazing depths of Bobal’s common sense deficit becomes most apparent with the attempted application of any and all sayings. Pearls of wisdom like ‘slept like a light’ and ‘out like a log’ will regularly escape her lips.
A couple other prime examples are ‘ as the bird crows’, aka ‘ as the crow flies’, ‘it’s a recipe waiting to happen’, this should be ‘a recipe for disaster’ or ‘a disaster waiting to happen’. I do love that combo.
Even more hilarious is when Bobal outright concocts her own words and or names for things. ‘Ball ball’ for ‘bauble’ and ‘counch’ for ‘couch’, where does the N come from?
The most entertaining part for me is the strength of her resolve when arguing her point. Adamantly telling me it’s a ‘landpost’ not a ‘lamppost’! And in truth it takes nothing short of a promethean effort on my part to convince her other wise as she always has a very logical argument to prove her illogical view. ‘It’s a landpost because it’s a post that’s in the land’. Who am I to argue with that?
To top it all off she blames all of the above on her mother. Her mother who actually gets all these sayings correct, calls a couch a couch and a lamppost a lamppost. Can someone please explain this to me?
It’s because of these idiosyncrasies that Bobal and I work so well as a couple, as we get to laugh our way through life. It still makes me laugh every time she utters one of her Bobal-isms. As Bobal says, a bird in the hand does you good.