He'll shake his head and say, "Were you adding the denominators again?"
I'll pretend to be very interested in the counter top, and squeak out an embarrassed, "Uh-huh." In my head, it makes sense every time. 1/3 + 1/3 equals 2/6, which rounds down to 1/2!
This is my secret shame, so secret that I am posting it on the Internet for mocking purposes.
While my practical applications of numbers are...lacking, I enjoy numbers as a concept. Like my grandmother, I get very excited when the digital clock reads certain things, such as 3:33. Ah, the symmetry! I also enjoy 1:23, because it is chronological. Ditto 4:56.
I find Paul's birthday 1-7-74 troubling because that 4 ruins the whole thing, being the only even number in a sea of odds. Mine--3-5-75--is much better. My brother's is also okay: 10-20-76, for everything in his birth date is divisible by two.
Both of my sons have messes of birth dates: 2-21-06 for Owen and 7-29-08 for Joel.
The only redeemable aspect of Owen's birthday (besides the fact that it is his birthday and I love him, blah blah blah...) is that 21 has always been a very good number for me. Just typing it is very satisfying.
Joel's birthday was a missed opportunity. I was so tired of being pregnant that I was induced. Meaning: if I had allowed nature to take its course, I could have had a cooler date for my second born.
He was supposed to be born in early August, which was very exciting, because it was possible that his birthday would have been 8-8-08. The very idea! Think of all the times I could have written that blissful little number on medical forms!
Alas, my aching back and surly temperament were stronger than my nerdy inclinations, and I jumped at the induction date. My only consolation is that 29 is a prime number.
However, I don't understand the whole concept of prime numbers, so this is an empty victory.
One more number story: we just bought new telephones, because our old phones were tools of the devil--cutting out, beeping loudly, going on mute for no logical reason. The other day, I was dialing a number to check my voice mail. Suddenly, the phone decided to beep loudly while the number 6 filled the entire screen. As in 666666666666666666666666. As in MARK OF THE BEAST. As in the film Maximum Overdrive, where all the household appliances become evil, slicing and dicing their hapless owners.
It didn't matter what I did. All I could do was stare at my demonic telephone, waiting for the sky to turn black and for the Four Horsemen to come tearing from the sky. It was quite chilling.
But then, I unplugged the phone and replugged it, thus performing a do-it-yourself exorcism. All was fine.
But, in the short moment, when my blood turned to ice water, and I was pondering my haunted phone, I couldn't help but note that 666 is divisible by both 2 and 3, and it is very pleasing, indeed.
So tell me...do any of you share my bizarre affinity for numbers?