INTELLIGENT: A Flight of Fiction

They never said she was smart.

“She is intelligent,” is what they always said.


She hated being called intelligent.

“Sounds like something you order off the menu of that trendy restaurant in SoHoBoHo,” she once said to no one.

She wanted to be smart.

Razor edge smart.

Dorothy Parker Algonquin Table smart.

She wanted to be smart perched on a grand piano in a ballroom swathed in a red hot dress while others crowded around her waiting for the next bon mot to trill from her sultry tinted lips.

Yeah. She wanted to be that smart.

“Intelligent,” she muttered as she grabbed the take-out order from the waitress, adjusted the straps on her backpack and walked out the diner door.

Sitting on the park bench, she took a bite out of her tuna sandwich with the huge red onion slices she added to her order because she loves red onions.


She did not have an appointment today so the onions were a no harm no foul decision.

“Hey,” Tom said as he plopped down beside her on the bench.

The Tom who was smart and witty and longed for by every woman who ever laid eyes on him if only for a moment.


“Mmph,” she muttered as she did her best to talk and swallow at the same time.

Red onions, so not a smart choice!

She hated being called intelligent!










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