Ask, and ye shall receive - possibly a good klap

I don't believe the popular myth that there is no such thing as a stupid question.

In the words of Scott Adams, the cartoonist who created Dilbert: "If there are no stupid questions, then what kind of questions do stupid people ask? Do they get smart just in time to ask questions?"

I guess I have just opened myself up to the retort: "There is no such thing as stupid people because stupidity is subjective." And my response to that, if I didn't have better things to do, would be: "I guess you're not on Twitter and Facebook, are you?"

There are many things that make questions stupid. The most obvious category of stupid questions is when the individual asking the questions is failing to connect dots that are obvious to someone with a functioning brain. Another category is when there seems to have been no thought behind the question at all. For instance, I once ran into a former colleague while queuing for popcorn at the movies and she asked, "What are you doing here?"

I wanted to respond, "I like to come here and sit in the dark," but decided to bite my lip because Mrs N can read my mind and she was glaring at me threateningly. Another time I ran into the office, proclaiming loudly that I had just been caught in the rain without an umbrella, and a colleague asked if I was wet. "No, I ducked between the drops," escaped between my lips before I could bite them, and relations were never the same again.

After years of watching legal dramas such as LA Law, Matlock, The Good Wife, et cetera, I have learned a valuable lesson; there are situations when you should avoid asking questions unless you already know the answer. But why ask the question if you already know the answer?

Let me give you a few examples. A few years ago I worked with a woman who struggled to get rid of her baby gut after giving birth. One day we travelled together to a company conference in Durban. Another colleague who hadn't seen her in more than a year walks up to her, starts stroking her boep, and, with a wide grin, screams: "When is baba due?"

The temperature in the room dropped to Antarctic levels and I surreptitiously walked away to avoid any collateral damage.

It is amazing just how many women have related to me how people have congratulated them on their non-existent pregnancies. I find that amazing because I just naturally assumed that everybody knew never to ask the question, "When is the baby due?", unless the pregnancy has been confirmed.

That goes for another question that should never be asked: "Sjoe, why are you gaining so much weight now?" (Hmm, let's see. Ever heard of this thing called food?) Besides, dear not-so-anonymous Weightwatcher, are you sure you want to know why I've piled on a few pounds?

What if the reason I'm starting to look like an honourable member of the National Assembly is because a few months ago I came home to find my wife in bed with our one-eyed gardener and that she later confessed that Cyclops is the real father of our youngest and that the one-eyed condition is hereditary and the young man is starting to lose sight in one eye and that the only coping mechanism I have is to make several trips to KFC a day?

What then, huh? Do you really want to hear this? What's that? I didn't think so.

I'd have to say that my favourite response to questions about weight is from a Durban-based friend of mine called Bouga Dlamini. He used to be quite a large fellow until recently when he became one of those annoying gym rats. His standard response was always: "Well, I can afford to eat. I guess my body is just more grateful for this gift than yours."

Speaking of the National Assembly, I reckon we should stop fluffing around with this social cohesion nonsense that nobody can explain to me coherently and focus instead on a National Indaba for the Banning of Dumb Questions.

I think I speak for sugar-daddies and cougars everywhere when I say that at the top of that list is the question posed when people run into "mature" acquaintances having a meal with much younger companions: "This strapping/beautiful young man/lass is your son/daughter, then?"

I would love to see the expression on a busybody's face the day someone responds, "Oh no. I subscribe to the Woody Allen school of thought. She's my adopted daughter and we're sleeping with each other."