Damn Cheez-Its. I suspected I was gaining pandemic weight, and then, after jogging one day, I did my physical therapy exercises with my shirt off. In front of a mirror. Boy, that's a mistake I won't make twice. It was like Disneyland's Haunted Mansion, except instead of a ghoulish reflection I saw a pale, puffy, jiggly one.
Me: I think I'm gaining weight.
Adam: We both are.
Me: Wrong answer! You're supposed to say, "No, you're not."
Then this happened. Luckily, no one witnessed it.
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Still, as we say around here, a bitch gotta eat. Today, we got takeout from Mony's, which has excellent burritos. My Marylander husband proved he has no idea how to eat one.
"Jeopardy!" put out word that it's seeking contestants in the Santa Barbara area. My mother-in-law, bless her heart, thought of me.
Barbara: You should apply!
Me: I actually tried out back when I was in college. It was humbling.
Barbara: You're a lot smarter now.
Me: Perhaps. But I remember less.
I may or may not be wiser, but when it comes to "Jeopardy!"-style trivia, I'm definitely not smarter. Back then, armed with all that stuff I overheard in high school, I had an almost uncanny ability to guess right even when I had no idea what the answer was. (You really didn't want to play Trivial Pursuit against me, because I was also a gloater. Still am, probably.) But at the "Jeopardy!" tryout, I didn't have the answers—so much was out of my wheelhouse. I can't blame nerves, because it wasn't like we were onstage holding clickers. It was a written test, like any other.
Anyhow, I just took the online test, out of curiosity. I killed it, especially after I saw the fine print saying that you don't have to frame the answer in the form of a question (which I realized about one-third of the way through the 50 questions). But now I'm all hopped up on stress, and even if I get the call for an audition—I'm sure they have no shortage of middle-aged white guys—I don't know that I'd pursue it.
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At least I still have crosswords. Yes, that's the right answer. Still gloaty.