Thank you for stopping by. I wish I could offer you pie, but I’m much too fond of pie to share it. Please don’t judge me harshly for that. Believe me, if I had donuts, I’d send you home with a bagful of crullers. Well, maybe not crullers. They’re my favorites. How about apple fritters? You’re welcome to as many of them as you can carry. Fill your pockets for all I care. They’re stale anyway.
While you’re here, let me tell you a little bit about myself. As you may have guessed from my smooth demeanor and excellent hygiene, I possess an associates degree in accounting from a major east coast community college. That, of course, explains the data processing machine on the coffee table. I was working on my fantasy bowling league selections for the week. I’m in fourth place right now, if you must know. But I have high hopes for this weekend’s tournaments.
Here’s the thing though. You would think, with my educational background, that I would naturally be good with numbers. But I’m not. Seriously. You know how people sometimes will say, “Do the math.”? Well, I just won’t. I can’t. When pressed, I will spill the contents of my wallet on the floor or fake a mild stroke. Anything to keep from doing the math. Go figure.
And what’s the most frightening part of math? For me anyway? I’m glad you asked. The answer is decimal points. Long division is ridiculous enough without them. But once you try to cypher something point something into something else point something else, it becomes a maddening and unwieldy smattering of numbers. Trust me. Nothing good ever comes of decimal points. Particularly when you’re discussing blood alcohol content with someone in a position of authority.
Not to change the subject, but I can see you’re beginning to nod off. I wish I had something to offer you to drink, but there’s nothing in the fridge except for a 12 pack of Stella Artois. But it’s getting late and I really don’t know you well enough to share beers. So maybe you should just take your bag of apple fritters and hit the road. But do stop by anytime. Really. Because I have some math horror stories that will curl your hair. (You never took your hat off, so I’m just going to assume that you have hair to curl.) Bye now.