Silent Bob, my beloved, is a very smart man. There isn’t a sport that you can talk about that he doesn’t know the stats, in detail. His mother tells the story that this was the case when he was only three. He had and does have a photographic memory. If you’ve never known one of those, it’s kind of a scary talent, almost unnatural.
I cottoned on to his intelligence first time I met him because, well, yeah, I think smart is sexy. The other thing about Silent Bob is that he doesn’t really care who knows he’s smart. That and he’s pretty comfortable in his own company. However, as I would come to find out, this translates into him not being particularly chatty. Oh, he will be sociable, and in fact you’d be charmed by his dry wit at a party, but push come to shove, he’s nicely happy being Silent Bob.
Some would say that he married me because if he is Silent Bob, I am not. I might own up to a bit of that; it’s my observation that dull moments due to lack of stimulating, if not downright invigorating conversation are hardly a concern when I’m around. But to be honest, there have been a few rocky spots in our romance because of Bob’s lack of conversational desire and although I might could have been a bit less recalcitrant to his way of life earlier, we have largely come to terms. It wasn’t easy. I had to suffer comments like “What do