The Big Reveal

Every couple weeks we get together with some of our most favorite people and have a Friday pizza night. It’s really just a way to not have to deal with our kids for a night (as we sequester them to the basement and force them to watch Pee Wee Herman movies) and to actually be human beings for a couple hours (and by human beings, I mean pretend we’re in our 20’s and still have lives)

We discuss high end topics like religion, politics, North Korea and the state of our world. Just kidding. We tell funny, weird, and, to be honest, often disturbing, stories about our high school and college days. That, or we play a highly competitive game of Catch Phrase. And when we’re really feeling crazy, we do both. I know. We can get out of control.

I’m not even going to pretend that I remember how we got on the subject this past Friday night of SAT scores, but they came up and, interestingly enough, only one person was willing to state what theirs was. (and it wasn’t me)

I find it comical that no one was willing to state their score (except for the only doctor in the group … and let’s face it, intelligence creds are already established when you’ve got a D followed by an r in front of your name). Are we still really worried about this?? Does this really still define us? And then we went on to talk about how we really had to “adjust our scores”, that really they were 100 points higher because of some such thing that I can’t remember (a lot of wine consumption, folks) – that they weren’t REAAAALLLLLY accurate, blah, blah, blah. Seriously? We’re grown adults! Do we still really care about this?

Short answer: Yes.

For me anyway.  Don’t you love how I’m roping everyone into this.  It could easily have been the case that no one could actually say their scores over my loud cackling and desperate attempts to change the subject.

When we got home, the Hubs mumbled a number to me as we were climbing into bed. And having had too much to drink, I looked at him with crazy eyes. Once tonight, honey, once. That’s all I can handle … and actually, I can’t handle that. I’m going to sleep. He said no, it was his SAT score. Which I’m sure he told me at some point when we were dating, but I had no recollection. I barely remembered my own.

His is really good. Like, I-would-have-battled-a-rhinoceros-for-that-score good. And he didn’t share it, I’m guessing, because he didn’t want to “brag” … meanwhile, I didn’t share mine because I didn’t want everyone to be like “Wow. For someone who wears glasses and has a Master’s degree, you’re not as smart as I was assuming.  I’m starting to think we may need to reconsider this friendship.” I have these people fooled hardcore right now. Some of them think I’m pretty smart! I know. (YES, I just threw the Master’s degree out there – my insecurities know no bounds – deal with it)

So, anyway, in the spirit of all those fearless people out there who go online and reveal shockingly authentic things about themselves … like courageous women who reveal their double mastectomies or plus size women wearing bikinis in a stand against skinny women (I guess?) … yeah, those AMAZING women … I’m gonna throw myself in the ring. I will not be outdone!  So ….

(deep breaths)

(DEEP, DEEP breaths)

(hyperventilating breaths)

(“now my face is in a paper bag” breaths)

I’m revealing my SAT score.


I know, I know … I am so insanely brave (minus that last word). Heroic, perhaps? Please don’t flood the comments section with your admiration. When this post goes viral, that will be reward enough.

Now, I need to make a few adjustments with this number though, so bear with me.

Original Score: 1050

Some potentially made up adjustment everyone was talking about Friday night: 1150

Marrying a really smart guy: 1250

Having three kids: 650

Between the amount of times I’ve had to read Diary of the Wimpy Kid (1,647, conservatively), played Go Diego Go! The 123 Game (riveting!), and watched Phineas and Ferb (although, really, that show is genius), I may actually be lower than 650 … but you get the point.



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