I'll give you an answer, just not a correct one.

I should be examined by National Geographic on one of those medical mystery dramas. The ones where I am interviewed in a dimly lit room punctuated by moments of a dramatic reenactment. My character would be portrayed by a rarely-used actress, like Kelly from Life Goes On or something. So there's Kelly, playing "Carrie", and she is shown in a work environment. A nearby coworker casually muses to herself about the origins of the blue jean. There is no need for a response, but "Carrie" confidently states, "Oh, I think jeans come from the mid-western farmers who needed sturdier clothes to work the fields."

"Sadly, this is a common event in the life of Carrie," the narrator interjects. "She suffers from a genetic disorder. A disorder passed down from her mother, and her mother's sister, Diane. Carrie feels the need to give inaccurate information and pass it off as a statement of fact."

It's true. I have the affliction I spent years accusing my mother of having. I once listened to my mother and Diane talk at length about a field of crops we had passed by driving on a country road in Texas. They had not only come to the conclusion-quite quickly- that it was asparagus, but had also agreed that asparagus was the main export of Fredericksburg. I endured this nonsensical chatter for as long as I could stand before I had to be the voice of reason.

"Not only is that not asparagus, neither of you have any experience whatsoever in the field of agriculture. You are a realtor, and you are a banker. And that is hay. Not asparagus, hay. And you really should also know that the American Alligator is not a native species here. Really a non-issue. Too bad that guy on the plane is now sadly misinformed for life."

And now, coworkers give me the same sympathetic look of false encouragement you would give a three-year-old who thinks they're a great artist. I will hear myself tell Taylor that you should apply ice to sore muscles after running, and then there will be a long pause between us. Because I don't run, Taylor is training for a marathon, and she is too nice to point out my massively ill-informed 'knowledge'.

"I'm talking out my rear end, again." I concede.

"You are. That's okay."

I don't know the name of the pine tree in Florida we once saw, but Mom, Diane and I all agree it is a "Princess Pine". I don't even know if that's a real type of tree. I don't know that the blue jean actually originated in 17th century France in the town of Nimes, but it doesn't stop me from answering. It's like I can hear the nonsense leave my mouth, and think, hmm..there is a 25% chance that is a real answer...

Just be prepared. If you are ever in a room with me, my mother, or my aunt, that you should keep an open mind and have access to Google. Because you most likely just got fed a whole lot of nonsense.