The Math Of Love > The Love Of Math

February 7th, 2010 | Author: Greta

I was killing time between two different ballet lesson drop-off times for my two ballerina daughters, and I took a drive on a long windy road along the water and into the hills. This road is very familiar to me, though I haven’t driven it much since my teens. It used to be the indirect route to the roving high school keg parties, which would flee one scene after another in a sort of unfriendly game of hide and seek with police, except that we never got to be ‘it.’

On some days, my friend and I, in behavior typical of 17-year-old girls, would take the long road to hills to go house hunting. Yes, we were precocious. We selected our dream homes, which we were to live in with our dream guys, in our dream world of some dream dimension in existence. I remember particularly the one with the turrets and the storybook-style stonework. We agreed that was the one on which we, with our imaginary princes, both wanted to close escrow. My friend would surely have outbid me because she was much prettier and her dad worked in the stock market, back when the stock market was a cozier place to be. Ahhh, the innocent 80’s.

She said, “Oh my god, Snow White would live there with her seven dwarfs.” Perhaps she liked Disney more than I did or she is way kinkier than she came off, but I was content to live with one prince, not seven, hopefully a man of at least an average height.

It was funny to revisit the spot, this time with one five-year-old ballerina and the frustrated almost three-year-old who wears her leotard, tights, and chiffon skirt, in hopes that one day, by some miracle in adult logic and rule-making, she’ll be permitted to attend class. It was interesting how vividly I remembered my old dream world, years later, alongside my wide-awake world. And then it occurred to me.

I should have spent LESS TIME DREAMING and more time trying to tackle the misery that is algebra. That’s right. I could have become, I don’t know, an engineer, and, engineered things. Or a surgeon and cut things. And taken things out and put plastic things in. But I was busy shopping for homes, when I could have been developing the skills that help you buy them. So now I can’t do math or get a realtor to waste more than four nanoseconds of their Sunday afternoon with me.

I do, however, have a prince, just one, and I must say that he holds his own against the imaginary one, whose traits, now that I look back, were very non-descript. In fact, the only thing I really remember about him is that we lived in that castle, with the turrets and the stonework. And, for the record, my husband is a way better dancer than any of Snow White’s or Cinderella’s or Sleeping Beauty’s cheesy, overly white boyfriends. I only wish that the castle we afforded ourselves weren’t so 1/18 the size of everyone else’s and not so very orange in color. Though it’s a brave design choice and contrasts with the rolling green hills nicely. Oh, the missteps of youth!

But then, my revelation had a revelation. If I were good at algebra, I would actually have to DO algebra. And that would be bad. Now, I have the freedom to not do algebra all day long! No algebra! No algebra! None for me, ha! Can my chemist friends say the same? Neeeeeooooooo! As soon as a chemist chooses to befriend me, I will confirm this.

So they have nice houses. But they have to suck up the tortures of a + b + xy/z = your mother’s maiden name. Every. Day. Of. Their. Lives. Who needs square footage when you’ve got an open floor plan in your brain? My mind is a cavernous haven of algebra-free nothingness! You can take your b and shove it up your a. And I will sit here in 1,086 square feet of living space and think about my favorite adjectives. Location, location, location! (I know those were nouns. That was a real estate joke.)

So I’ll keep my prince and my math ineptitude and appreciate the simple joys of not being well-rounded, a rarity in the academic world these days. Can the economic principles of supply and demand magically come into play here? Can my price go up for sucking at math? In any case, I will reflect on a childhood where I perfected fantasy and delusion, and in retrospect, realize that the time was well spent.

We’re celebrating 14 Days of Love and Food! Check back tomorrow for another heart-shaped blog.

REPOSTED SHAMELESS PROMOTION AND RED ALERT: If you like this blog, please vote for Saving Private Mommy on Babble.com. Enough votes could make Greta go viral. She’s always wanted to be a virus. Go to Babble’s website and click ‘alphabetical’ just above the names of the nominated sites. You’ll find Saving Private Mommy on or around page 9. Greta thanks you for your support! That link, if you missed the first 2 times, is right here. Oh thank you, oh thank you! Here it is again. And again. One last time. Bye!

Just in case you forgot.