Sometimes, say, when I'm being asked the same question about how we got to a number on an invoice (it's a little trick I like to call, math), I'm tempted to start feeling preeeeeety smart. And to begin feeling as though I am surrounded by a bunch of dull little bulbs who, though in desperate need of the shining light that is my smartness, are probably incapable of comprehending it.
It's OK, my little darlings, you may call me $DEITY and bask in my glory, and I shall lead you to the land of milk, honey and data integrity.
Of course, when I start getting that particular wind under my sails, reality is quick to take me down a notch or ten.
When asked a few days ago how old Captain Adventure was, I said two. Because normally, after a kid reaches this lofty age, that's all the information anybody wants. They don't want the 24 months, three weeks, two days, fifteen hours and twenty six seconds aaaaaaat...MARK!
'Two', will do.
But when the person persisted, actually asking for months, I said (with great confidence), "Twenty six months." I would have put down good money that I was right, too.
Then yesterday, when I again put forth the 26 month age, I was gently corrected by the pediatric nurse. "Well, actually," she said gently, embarrassed to be put in the position of having to make such a correction to an otherwise reasonably intelligent person, "He's 30 months."
AND I SAT THERE LIKE AN IDIOT COUNTING MONTHS ON MY FINGERS, BECAUSE I WAS GOING TO ARGUE WITH HER ABOUT IT.
See, because AUGUST makes twenty-four, and then we count SEPTEMBER=1, OCTOBER=2 blah blah and then if you take six and add it to twenty-four, you CLEARLY get...
...uh...
If you add...well, if you take August, and you...add...
...
...
...
..........never mind..........
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