When I was pregnant with my first child, I read everything about motherhood I could lay my hands on. Research has always been my friend when navigating unknown waters, so I convinced myself if I read enough, I would be prepared for whatever parenthood threw my way.

In my misguided quest, I devoured every book and article I could find. One study claimed that 78% of all expectant mothers could accurately predict the sex of their babies. Friends were viewing sonograms to get a heads-up, but Bill and I had decided against finding out. However, instinct was an entirely different matter. After all, as a smart, intuitive woman, I was in tune with myself and my body. I must be one of the 78%. There was no question of being part of the lowly 22% — those poor clueless souls.

As the final months approached, baby showers appeared on the horizon. I shared my “knowledge” with everyone. The shower presents leaned towards the masculine. The nursery was painted blue. We narrowed our list of names, exhaustively considering male names while quickly deciding on a female name — after all, we wouldn’t need it.

And the outcome? Our firstborn is female. While this was never a disappointment, it did confirm I would never be a professional psychic. And just maybe, I wasn’t as intuitive as I thought.

When it comes to overestimating my abilities, I’m in good company. Apparently, almost 70% of people believe they are above average for any given skill. It doesn’t matter whether it’s intelligence, dancing or driving, most of us believe we are better than we are. This phenomenon even has a name: illusory superiority. Too much of this self-bias and a person is insufferable; too little and they may be prone to depression. Somewhere lurking under a thin veneer of being humble, this secret knowledge of superiority patiently waits to be unleashed.

Perhaps this is why people love mysteries. The stringing together of clues, ferreting out red herrings, poking holes in alibis — all these actions affirm our inner geniuses. We work alongside the sleuth — their victory becomes our own in solving the case.

Better yet, sometimes the opportunity arises where we can be the detective. On a whim, Bill and I recently went to a Murder Mystery Dinner at the Saranac Lake Elks Club.

If you’ve never been to an Elk’s dinner, you should go. Why? Simply, because the food is delicious, and the company isn’t bad either.

If you have never been to a mystery dinner, don’t be intimidated. The format roughly follows this plan. After a diverse cast is introduced, a crime is revealed, and the victim appears to be despised by all. Following a host of motives and a lot of corny jokes, there is a break. During this time, you eat, interview the characters, and write down the solution to the mystery. Act Two reveals the culprit, then prizes are awarded.

During the first act, Bill and I dutifully scrutinized the characters. Some appeared sketchy from the onset, others were chameleon-like, and at least one was decidedly bland. Before the intermission, the playwright, George Dechant reminded the audience that we could interview any or all the characters, or if so inclined, simply listen to others. He also stressed that only the killer could lie.

Bill and I split up. Mingled. Loitered in the background. Eavesdropped. Questioned the suspects. Conferred. We honed in on an inconsistency. One character had a slightly different story than the rest. It was a minor glitch, but we noticed a small detail that others had likely missed. While the competition was barking up the wrong tree, The Peer Detective Agency solved the crime. As we dined, we filled out our ballots, and because we couldn’t help it, we shared our brilliant solution with anyone we knew.

As the Second Act began, I gave Bill a smug smile. He responded with a thumbs up.

The moment had come: the big reveal.

And the murderer was … not our pick.

Worse, over a third of the audience had guessed correctly.

Even worse, a small child in the audience had accurately named the criminal.

And worst of all, we had shared our incorrect theory with multiple people.

Illusory superiority struck again, proving the adage, “Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and to remove all doubt.”