I told Jill Y that I didn’t count. She assured me that I did, told me that low self-esteem is a terrible thing and that I should hold my head up high at all times. I told her that she misunderstood me and that my self-esteem was higher than Don Trump’s hair apparel thingy when the wind is blowing as furiously as 65 vicious tornados. I told her that I didn’t count in the mathematical sense of the word because math makes as much sense as blaming Nickleback for all bad music when we have Bon Jovi in the same world. I spent the next 27.85% of the day trying to explain how confused math makes me. I showed her this picture where I am the white cat and the bubble is math:
The next meeting of the Math Impaired Number Haters support group will take place as soon as I get enough people interested to bother setting a date and time, buying cookies and making coffee.
I can definitely help with the hatred part.
I like cats and bubbles Bill Y, but I dislike math 75% and Nickleback 30% totaling 100% dislike of Bon Jovi.
That totally adds up in my world.
I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but nobody counts anymore. Common Core Math destroyed us.
I can’t be deflated. I can’t be destroyed. I am Bill Y.
That’s the exact expression I have when I open the fridge and there’s no chilled chardonnay inside.
I recommend hypnotizing the cat to bring you wine. It works for Jill Y.
Bill Y, you may not have yet quite qualified as a mathlete, but you are THIS close to advancing. You are—as they say—“on the bubble.”
P.S. I think your name should be Bill Y Golden.
We can work with that name, Bill. My name is ever changing like the opposite of our Irish weather.
I can’t figure out the bubble, either. Is it algebra? Geometry? Pluses and minuses?
It’s a load of hot air, if you ask me.