Do you have any
idea how often I’m wrong? Take a guess and join my world, because you, too,
will be wrong.
It’s a lot. I know
that’s not a specific number, but neither is tons, gobs, heaps, or loads. And I’m
not even sure I’m right about that. Maybe back in the 1400s some peasant in
England decided “heaps” was an exact measurement of some kind.
My latest wrong
speculation was that an apostle from our church was coming to visit our area because
they’re creating a new stake. I was sure of this conjecture and shared it
at a Christmas party.
Of course my
daring compatriots immediately seized upon this opportunity to profit from my over-confidence.
They said if I was wrong, I’d have to throw the next party.
You guessed it.
No new stake. Joni thus had to throw a New Year’s Eve party, but the good news
is that we’re on the West coast, and we could have a New York New Years’ by watching
the ball drop at 9 pm and calling it a night.
So, if on
occasion you find yourself being dead wrong about something, I say celebrate.
Being wrong means you are self-educating. That sounds intelligent to me. By the
way, did you know that intelligent people have more zinc and copper in their
hair? Needless to say, nobody’s testing my zinc or copper.
And that zinc/copper thing may be a myth. What’s
not a myth is that my books are all available here at rock-bottom prices, but