Numb3rs

I know I’ve said this before. I’m just not good with numbers. At the mere mention of them, my eyes glaze over and my brain freezes up. I am also a freak in this household. Frank majored in math before switching to computer science. Steve did a double major of theology and math. Theresa is in education but they have to choose a subject to major in so what is her major? You guessed it – math.

Now, while I admit in not being so great in math & numbers, I really didn’t think I was that bad with numbers. Until tonight. A friend of mine has a phone number very similar to ours. Okay, fine. It’s not really that similar. I mean, she’s local so obviously we’d have the same area code. And, again, what with being local and all, there a 33% chance that the first 3 digits would be the same as mine so it’s not surprising that they are the same. The last 4 digits, however, are completely different.

The problem is, when I memorize phone numbers, the last 4 digits somehow seem to flow into the first 3. That means when I went to call her up, I dialed my own number first. What made me realize the fact that I had done that is she has call waiting so I wouldn’t have gotten that busy signal.

I tried calling again. I got that shrill beep and then a message that said when I dial that number, I don’t need to dial 1 + the area code. Uh, unless they changed the rules, yes I do need to dial those. I looked to see what number I had dialed. I did not recognize the area code. I have no idea what area code I dialed or how I could have dialed a wrong area code in the first place.

Finally I managed to dial the correct number and got through. To her answering machine.

No, I am not on drugs, I have not been drinking and I got 7 hours of sleep last night so I’m not sleepwalking around here. Nor have I suffered any blow to the head that I know of.

Seriously, this is not what is supposed to be meant when I say I’m not good with numbers.

Oh, and speaking of that, someone I was once friends with loved math and she insisted that the reason I was bad in math was because I was always told girls don’t do well in math. No matter how many times I told her that no one ever told me that and, in fact, my father used to say he wasn’t good in math, she would still insist that must have happened. Obviously she must have lived a part of my life that I completely missed.