Eight, Eleven, Seventeen

'Mom? Is the biggest number in the world an odd number, or an even number?'

-sister, whose birthday is on saturday

My brother and sister have said some pretty adorable things over the years. (I am told that I have as well, but that is for another post.) A quick glance through the archives should reveal as much, but most of the magic has not yet been shared. For instance, when my brother was small, my parents were wont (as indeed they have been with all of us) to debate trivial matters with him with all the solemnity of preachers or judges.

It was decided one evening that my brother should take a bath.

Mom: 'I know you don't want to take a bath, but if you have to, I'm sure you will take one with dignity.'

Kid: 'Who's Dignity?'

However, it is the mispronounciations and the spoonerisms that have always been among my favourites. My brother is surely the king of these ('Blah-blahs' for 'Loblaws'), but my sister has been known to make a few interesting adjustments to the language herself.

Of these, my absolute favourite is her rendering of 'specific'. She pronounces it 'pesific'. It's really only missing a letter, but it's amazing when it comes up in a sentence more than once. From 'pesific', of course, we derive 'pesifically' and 'pesification' (although never, interestingly, 'pesify'), words that I'm considering sending to Oxford University for inclusion in their next edition of our English-language Bible.

And now: a note to certain members of my math class, à la Sophia and Alicia.

First of all, let me make it clear that I believe you are very good people, and if I knew you better I am sure I would love you dearly. If you were actually going to read this, I would advise you not to take personal offense at my anger, and instead work on the constructive advice I have so subtly provided.

That said, it isn't as if you had no idea this year was coming. You have all finished high school math, and you know well the inflexibility of our administration regarding schedules; what else did you anticipate the eleventh grade might hold in store? No, you were forewarned, yet you persist in annoying our (frankly) already touchy educator (and no, I won't elaborate on the rumours) and being generally irritating to the other students. And by 'other students', I of course mean me.

The course is called 'Pre-calculus.' This would imply that its objective is to prepare us for further studies in the field. There is some purpose to our learning, some reason for us to take math this year, and while I agree that it may be less important than some classes, your constant nitpicking and complaining is absolutely insufferable. How dare you berate our teacher for outlining concepts that you personally feel have no practical use 'in real life'? (As if 'real life' for any of us could take place outside an academic or intellectual setting.) How dare you, as athletes and musicians, deny the value of uselessness, and the beauty of impracticalities?

If poets you are not, at least permit our instructor to do her job, and be appreciative of the fact that she -- unlike some -- is actually motivated to teach. Judge the worth of the course in private, after you have graduated, after you have gone on to more advanced material, after you understand a little more about the world and have thrown off this pathetic adolescent arrogance.

My word for 'egg cosy' was definitely my crowning achievement.