The Melodrama of Math

   Remember when I said I stink less at English than Math?

   
   Yeah, well let me expound on that a little…

   

  

   Today I worked an hour straight on one stupid algebra problem and at the end of it gave a huge sigh of relief and satisfaction because I just knew it was right.

   But of course…it wasn’t. Surprise, surprise.

   

   Maybe it’s pure talent that I can contrive a solution to a problem that is so off the mark, I can’t even tell which problem I was solving in the first place.

  This has happened to me way too many times: 

   I’m pretty sure my lack of math skills is connected to my incompetency at baking. All that measuring and dividing...

   
  Once my friend and I were baking cookies and we had to cut the recipe in half because we didn’t have enough flour for a whole one. We did okay until we got to “1/3 cup” for one of the ingredients. We both stared blankly at the page, then at each other, then back at the page. 

   Fifteen minutes later, we still couldn’t figure out what half of 1/3 was. (Needless to say, math isn’t her strong point either).  Finally, she smiled at me and whispered one little word…“Google.” Lazy man's way out, I know. But hey, we had cookies to bake.
   
   This has also happened to me, although it was with mashed potatoes (that's a story for another time):

   And I have to say, this one made me crack up:

   

   It’s happened a few times when I’m shopping with my mom. She catches an overcharge right away, but it whooshes right past me. I'd probably pay $20 for a teabag if they asked me.

   

   But I think my worst math horror story was the time I was helping out at a neighbor’s garage sale, and they put me in charge of the cash register. What a cruel joke. I actually managed to survive the first couple of hours without any embarrassing episodes (mostly because people made purchases that were all rounded to the nearest dollar...so making change was simple enough).

   But then a gentleman came up and his total came to $3.50, so he gave me a $5 bill. Big uh-oh. If he hadn't been in such a hurry, watching me like a hawk, I would have been fine. But my brain checked out, and in a panic, I handed him $2.50 back.  He smiled and kept his hand held out with the money. 

   I knew something was wrong, but for the life of me I couldn’t think what. I fumbled around and said something dumb like, “Oh I gave you wrong change, didn’t I?” He nodded and just stood there, expecting me to fix it. I took back 50 cents and I could just see him laughing hysterically in his head. 

   I think he then realized I had no clue what to do, and he was kind enough to complete my utter humiliation by taking the time to do the one thing I hate the most: he walked me through the problem.

   
   I wanted to die right there. Oh the shame…

   

  And so continues my ongoing saga of math struggles and fiascos.

   

   My words of wisdom to you: work hard at your math.

   
   If you don’t, you’d better be okay with ruined cookies, a depleted bank account because of overcharge, a surplus of cooked pasta, and the ignominy of not being able to count back change.