"Do You Think I'm Ditsy?"

This entry is dedicated to anybody who knows what I’m talking about.

This girl asks me if I think she’s ditsy. I’m stuck sitting shotgun, and the person I know her through is in back. The car door has long since been slammed, and it might as well be locked. And her eyes are on mine, which are staring down the road. And I ain’t really sure how to answer this question.

It’s not one you can really answer, especially to chicks. Like the how-do-I-look question. Questions that you wish were rhetorical. No matter what you say, you’re in boiling water. People have died over such things. And you gotta watch how you say it too. The most diplomatically brilliant politician would break down under such pressure. You can’t pause when you answer the question. Like I did. I mean, what is ditsy really? I looked it up in the dictionary.

Definition of ditsy: eccentrically silly, giddy, or inane.

And I have to say that I wouldn’t use the word in describing this individual. Especially not within striking distance. I’m at least smart enough to know that. And maybe I’m so smart that this girl thinks I’m qualified to answer her question. Or maybe she doesn’t know if I am. Or maybe anybody is smarter than her. Maybe she’s really worried about being ditsy, or maybe she just cares about image to me or anybody else.

When I think of ditsy, I think of cheerleaders. Big hair, big pompoms, big shoulder pads, big breasts, big purses, big shopping bags, big boyfriends, big make up, and big mouths and phone bills. Little skirts, little care for anything, little cell phones, and little brains.

But I don’t think this is what she’s asking about. I know this girl who was surprised to find soybeans to be an ingredient in soy sauce. I know this girl who gave her TV to her boyfriend and later remarked that she had one that looked just like it. I think this is the type of thing she’s asking. If she’s like that type of girl.

And so I think to myself. Now I don’t like to consider myself as ditsy or in anyway unintelligent. I’ve had my share of embarrassing moments. And right now I’m feeling too unintelligent to even answer this question. And part of me says that this question can’t really be answered. And by now, even if I did answer the question, there’s been far too long of a pause. My brain is distracted by funny stories this question has reminded me of. And maybe if I laugh then I’ll be the ditsy one. And maybe that’s safer, but maybe it’s just dangerous. And maybe I should be ignoring all the details that don’t really matter.

And I’m thinking of all the things that have and could have lead up to this question. And of all the things that it will unleash. And it’s a really hot day for some reason. And I’m hungry and I’m kind of tired. And I think I have a headache now. And there’s this girl next to me. And this girl asks me if I think she’s ditsy. And I ain’t really sure how to answer this question.

And so if you really want to know the truth, that is, my gut feeling, with all technicalities and civilities set aside, getting to the true heart of the question, and answering without the same technicalities and civilities, then I’ll have to say that you don’t really need me to say anything further. Words aren't perfect. Bad questions get bad answers. In the end, it’s probably better to just laugh. As long as it’s funny, it needs no explanation.

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