But for the rest of you:
So there I am, standing in a herd of mothers on a playground. In our midst was a number 10 (i.e. a braggart). The list of things that this woman claimed to be an expert on was long (winded), detailed, hyper and annoying the ever-living fuck out of me. I tried a few techniques to subtly let her know of her social inadequacy. I used intense and ugly sarcasm, I didn't make eye contact, I used harshly inappropriate language, and I even walked away and stretched my hamstrings.
Yet she did not falter.
At one point, her level of ridiculousness was so fierce that I actually engaged her with a question,
|And I was going to be either an astronaut or a Victoria's Secret Model....|
Just before I was ready to bore out my own eardrums with an ice pick, my friend swooped in with the most brilliant move in playground history. She out-played this egotistical peacock. I know all of you have been in this situation with someone from work, from school, from church or a mom's group and you find yourself stranded with your standard, self-declared-god-like human. "How do you shake these people?", you ask. "TELL ME....."
It was genius. She directed her attention at this gasbag and started talking in detail about bodily functions. Farting (or, as her husband likes to delicately refer to it: letting gas *gagging over here*) was the main subject, but she also threw in some details about fecal matter and urine that I believe sealed the deal. Or maybe it was her walk-by-pause-and-lift-the-leg demonstration of flatulence (directed at Miss Windbag herself). Either way, we all took her cue and joined in, it worked, and Suzy-So-Splendid-And-Smart walked away from us. Then we all sighed a collective sigh of relief and moved along to the more important subjects of double knit polyester and giant metal chickens.
So remember, the next time you run into a diarrhea fountain of braggadocio, fight fire with fire. And if you can light yours on fire, then you get double bonus points.