JUST PLAIN DUMB                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   To say that  no-one  in the world that likes a know-it-all would be an understatement.  But, there is one person who has come to enjoy the company of a know-it-it all and that person is me.  Why?  There’s a perfectly good reason as to why  I enjoy conversation with all of the great oracles that I know and some that I don‘t know.  It’s fun.  Fun?  Well, the knowledge filled folks out there tend to both loathe and love a good ignoramus, which again is me.  You see, they love the fact that I can seem so clueless about a myriad of subjects, and as a result of my profound ignorance, they get the chance to impart as much wisdom as possible upon me, thus highlighting their brilliance.  At the same time they loathe me for being so stupid. 
     Over the years, encounters with know-it-alls have evolved to the point that I go out of my way to seem as though I was raised by wolves and had just recently re-entered civilization.  I do this with people that I know, as well as total strangers. This behavior has brought me many years of entertainment with my school teacher wife, but that is a story for another day.  Recently, while standing in line at our local pharmacy, I pounced at the opportunity to provoke two very well dressed and obviously knowledgeable older men to respond to my lack of knowing about much of anything.
     Usually, when I need to pick a prescription up at the pharmacy, I simply cruise up to the drive thru, ask for what I need, and drive away.  On this particular day, there was a rather long line of vehicles, so I decided to go into the store.  After parking my old truck, which was loaded with wood that I had cut before driving to the pharmacy, I walked in and ambled toward the rear of the place. There,  I noticed several people  waiting.  At the back of the line, stood two older gentlemen.  One was dressed in a fine suit, with shiny loafers, striped tie, and John-Boy Walton glasses on his face.  The other had certainly just left the gym as he was adorned with a sweaty headband, designer running suit and very expensive tennis shoes.  I stood in line behind the men.
     “Winfield!  How are you old chap?”  the man in the suit asked, to the other fellow.  He had a booming voice, prompting everyone to turn around to see who the loud talker was.
     “Doing fine Charles!  Just fine!  I’ve been hitting the gym hard recently.  We finally finished our vacation home in Barbados and plan to Winter there.  Can’t be seen out of shape on the beach, now can we?”  Mr. Sweat suit replied in an equally booming voice, while fake laughing.
      “Well then, I guess that little tip I turned you on to did well.  We were just lucky that you were able to get in ground floor with the IPO, I'm glad it all worked out,”  they graying businessman said.
     At that point, I thought that this could be a great opportunity to show off my glaring ineptness.
     “Shoot, I’m glad your PO is doing good, but my PO is ain‘t hittin‘ on much.  The service is terrible. Took me fifteen minutes to get a stamp the other day.  Just pitiful,”  I butted in, knowing full well that the two walking apostles of knowledge wouldn’t be able to resist correcting a village idiot.
     “He said IPO, which is Initial Public Offering.  It’s stock.  Do you have any experience with stock?” the old gym rat asked with a smirk on his face, sure that I didn’t.
     “Well, I’ve never owned any personally, but my grandmother was thinking about buying a couple of cows once.  Just to keep the lot next to her house eaten down.”
     “Anyway, Winfield, I’m just glad you didn’t have to settle for a place in the Bahamas.  It’s a step down you know,”  old pinstripes said as both men turned their back to me.  “Did Martha ever find a dog to her liking?  I know she was desiring one the last time I talked to her.”
     Again, I saw another chance to be corrected and couldn’t resist.
     “ ‘Scuse me again.  But I know of an ’ol boy that has a whole bunch of Dash Hounds for sale,”  I said, leaning slightly toward the men while looking at them in a matter-of-fact fashion.
     “Did you say Dash Hounds?”  gym bag said, as both let out a hearty chuckle.  “What, pray tell is a Dash Hound?”
     “Little, short dog, stubby legs.  You know,  like a hot dog.  My buddy has a whole flock of ‘em,” I continued, while bending over and holding my hand flat just above the floor, to show the size of the dogs.
     “A flock of Dash Hounds!?  Damn boy, where are you from?”  the old man in the suit asked through an eruption of laughter, while starting at my muddy boots and dusty blue jeans.
     “I believe you are referring to Dachshunds, and they don’t come in flocks, they are born in litters.  Holy smoke!  You’re a bright one, that’s for sure,”  Winfield said again through roaring laughter.
     “Whatever, but they’re good dogs.  KFC registered, and I’ve got the number if you’re interested.  But, I’ve got to tell you, he wants an arm and a leg for them.  ‘Bout fifty dollars I think,”  I kept on, ratcheting up my ignorance.
      Instantly the roar of laughter became even louder as both men doubled over, unable to gain their composure.  By then, Charles had removed his John-Boy glasses and was wiping tears away with a monogrammed handkerchief he’d taken from his coat pocket.
     "That's a beautiful mammogramed hanky you got there, I usually just use my sleeve."
     “KFC registered!  No wonder you have a flock of dogs on the brain!  Lordy boy!  Fifty dollars!?  Arm and a leg! Mammogramed! Oh, I can’t take it anymore,  you’ve got to stop!”  Winfield attempted to say, through uncontrollable spasms brought on from his laughter.
     “What’s so funny?” I asked, with a completely straight face.
     “Go ahead of us.  I’ve forgotten why I’m even here!” Charles said through more tears.
      I stepped up to the counter and told the cashier what I wanted as the two experts of all things continued to giggle and try to compose themselves.  I walked past them as I exited the store,  and couldn’t help but smile and think to myself  how much an ignoramus means to a know-it-all.