I once dated one of the smartest men in the world.
How do you know? (You may be asking.) Well, dear reader, he told me.
No doubt you are impressed and greatly interested to learn in what context I was informed of his intellectual magnificence.
It was, naturally, in the midst of a disagreement. Over what? Unfortunately, I cannot recall, probably due to the fact that, alas, I may not be one of the smartest women in the world.
I believe the line “I am one of the smartest men in the world” was trotted out as a way of definitely ending the argument, of establishing his right-ness, once and for all, and ending any question that I might have anything of value to contribute on this (or any other) matter of contention.
I wondered, Where did he get this idea? Is it an objective statement? I consider it doubtful. I mean, he was no Stephen Hawking or anything.
Perhaps his mother told him so. It seems like something a mother might say.
One of my married friends is fond of referring to insufferably pompous men as “special helmet babies.” In other words, having been told how special they are for so long by their mommies, they have a falsely inflated sense of self that keeps them from being good for, or good to, any woman, ever.
I suppose it did, in a way, end the argument, as I was temporarily stunned into silence.
Though it was less because I was in awe of his massive genius – and more because I was floored by his giant ego.