Most days I feel at least remotely intelligent.  I mean, I have managed to raise three great kids, hold down a job and keep a reasonably organized house. I have handled my money, my time and my grocery list with a fair amount of success.

I am able to put away my summer clothes and take down my winter clothes all by myself.  And some years I even manage to do it before the first major blizzard!

I’m no Einstein, but most days I feel like there is at least some semblance of a brain taking up the space behind my eyeballs.

Not today.

Today was most definitely one of those Dunce Days.

Oh, you know what I mean!  You do!

A Dunce Day is one of those days when you carefully read your emails, then go on to plan your day according to what you have been told. You’re smart, so you let the information in the email guide you.  You make decisions based on what you have read!  Then you happily go whistling along at work, feeling all smug and satisfied and brainy.

Until someone who actually reads the crap  information we’ve been given mentions that you have made a little mistake, and you are completely wrong.  So you spend the next hour feeling alternately stupid and grateful-to-your-much-smarter-friend!  You scramble to reorganize your entire day!

But you settle down; anyone can make a simple mistake, right?  So you go on through the day, and you teach the nice math lesson that you so carefully created last night when you were smart.  Only……holy factor trees, Batman!  No one in the class can follow you at all!  23 kids are staring at you as if you are speaking Swahili, while one has his hand raised so he can point out that if you would just “use the third dimension”, your (math) problems would all be solved.  You don’t smack him (he is only ten), but your migraine kicks up just a notch as you realize that you are feeling somewhat less intellectual than you would like.

Still, you slog through the rest of the day, nursing your ego and your brain at the same time.  And at last, home you go, to your warm and cozy haven, where you know that you are, if nothing else, smarter than the mutts who greet you at the door.

You start dinner, put on a comfy sweater and those fluffy red slippers, and pour a nice cold glass of wine.  You sort through the mail, and open the one from the bank.

WHAT?! You are late on a loan payment!  How can this be?!  YOU are the one who pays the bills, and you are so very very smar……. careful.

You go through the letter, slowly.  There is no description of the loan, only an account number at the top. Which loan is late? Car?  Home equity? College loan? You can’t tell!

You boot up your computer, and make a valiant attempt to scroll through your bank’s on-line accounts page.  But….you can’t seem to find the payment history. Or the account numbers.  Or the amount due.

You gulp the wine.  You swear a little as you wiggle your toes inside those cozy slippers.  You rub your head, even though you know it won’t help.

You try again. You scroll, you read, you sort.  You cannot find SHIT on here!!

You smack your head, slam the cover closed on the stupid, broken, piece of crap laptop, then stomp your way into the kitchen where you notice that the DAMN RICE HAS BURNED!

Five minutes later your long suffering husband comes home.  You hand him the smoking pot, the letter from the bank and a wad of soggy tissues.

“You do it!”, you sob, as he stands in the hall, blinking. “I’m just a DUNCE!  You do it!”

You go to bed, figuring that tomorrow really has to be better.