"Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know." -Ernest Hemingway

For a large part of my life, the majority, actually, I've been operating under the assumption that were I just to destroy the correct section of my brain, I might be a happier person. Normal, even. This was my justification for going to the dentist that gives nitrous for every procedure, including cleanings. I had appointments for six Saturdays in a row, happy to spend the weekends together with my dentist and his tank of laughing gas. "That stuff will put holes in your brain," people say. "That's the idea," I reply. I'm not sure what, exactly, he was doing to my teeth, but I judiciously took a pregnancy test at the close of my series of dental appointments, just in case.

And now, the fruits of my labor--or maybe it's just old age--seem to be paying off. My brain seems to be slowing. Witticisms fly by me, not even stopping to say hello. Worse still, I'm not able to come up with the instantaneous and cutting remarks that I used to. Don't get me wrong, I'm still mean, it's just not as fast or funny. I took an IQ test online recently as a way to bolster my self-esteem and make my day go by more quickly. Imagine my surprise when I found that I had dropped 20 points since my last run-in with one of these things. Surprise turned to shock turned to a smile. Maybe I am a little bit happier, after all.