Despite being relatively intellectual in some ways, I'm actually a bit of a ditz. It's an element to my character I've always rather regretted and embraced simultaneously. I'm not above laughing at my own idiocy, it balances out my appallingly pompous side.
I probably shouldn't admit this, but a prime example of my ditziness comes in the form of today, when I realised, for the first time in my twenty-six years of existence, that there's no such thing as 'a French onion'. You see, for seemingly ever, I have laboured under the misapprehension, that, much in the same vein as 'Brussels spouts', there is an onion that is inherently French. French onion soup and French onion dip were made out of French onions.
It was only when I was trying to see a way to use up the copious brown onions I've suddenly found myself with that I discovered - oh! - I'm a foolish fool.
At least it's more self-deprecating material to grasp at when I get so incensed I start to wonder why everyone around me is a complete moron. They're not the only ones.