Goodness, it’s been awhile — mostly because for one reason and another, I have not been on a computer for nearly a month, except for quick dashes to keep up with Facebook and e-mails. Even at that, I spent the weekend dealing with 200+ new e-mails that I had “set aside” to “enjoy at my leisure.” Oh-kay. Can I fantasize, or what?!
So, the semi-newest topic: “What’s your hidden talent? What is the skill or ability you have people are always surprised to learn you posses?”
(This was actually yesterday’s topic, but I liked it better than today’s, “What can’t you say no to?”)
One not-so-hidden talent is that I’m a grammar Nazi, which means, Yes, WordPress Daily Post weenies, I did catch that blooper at the end of your sentence: The word “possess” possesses a total of four “esses,” not three. Good grief, people. WordPress is supposed to be for writers, and writers are supposed to have better than average grammar skills.
As to my hidden talent: Apparently people are surprised that I have a sense of humor. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I’m at that age when wealthier women than I get face lifts to erase the downward sag around their mouths, and when I look at the lines from my nose to my mouth, I have to admit that I do look pretty grim, especially when I’m focused or concentrating or otherwise not actively engaged in laughing.
But I’m thinking of a job I had, several years ago, which involved scoring those state educational assessments. You know, the kind where the kids have to read a prompt and answer questions about it. There are several components to such a test: reading, social studies, science, math, sometimes arts, and then there’s a writing prompt to which they have to respond in order to demonstrate that they’re capable (after eleven years of education — !) of expressing coherent thoughts on paper, in an organized and grammatical fashion. Extra points if they show flashes of insight or personality.
So there I was, scoring away at a table with five other people, and periodically I’d get it up to here with the mediocre or downright brainless responses, and I’d make some kind of a wisecrack, like, “Boy, batting a thousand: one, zero, zero, zero” (zero being hopeless, and one being one step above hopeless). At some point, one of the other scorers looked up and exclaimed, “You’re funny!” in a tone that indicated she was completely surprised by this fact. Another time, one of the other scorers heard me laughing about something and exclaimed, “You have a wonderful laugh! You should use it more often!” What am I supposed to say to that?!
I guess it’s better than having a hidden gift for safe-cracking….