Becky is tiling her kitchen floor, which measures 15ft 6in wide by 12ft 3inches long. If Becky uses tiles that measure 8 inches square, how man tiles must she buy to cover the floor?
I hate Becky. I thought for sure I’d be done with her by now
, but the bitch is back with yet another home remodeling project per my son’s math homework.
Look, I get that Becky’s probably just a hard-working woman who knows what she likes. She has every right to change the tile in her kitchen or bathroom or atrium (oh yeah, Becky is definitely one of those people who has an atrium). But Becky also likes to lay carpet in a family room that’s 12’x20′ and wallpaper borders around her bedroom that’s 11’x13′. Good for Becky for figuring this all up on her own, but damn girl, hire a contractor!
I remember my teacher, we’ll call her Mrs. XYZ, shrieking at our class, when we were all completely uninterested in Becky’s business, “PEOPLE! YOU WILL NEED TO KNOW HOW TO DO THIS ONE DAY!”
I didn’t believe her. I remember thinking, “Why wouldn’t I just have the people installing the tiles do the math part for me?”
And it was like Mrs. XYZ read my mind because then she yelled, “And you might not be able to afford to have someone install it for you! Then what are you gonna do?”
As an adult, I’m thinking if I can’t afford to hire someone to do it for me, then I really have no business spending money on a new tile job to begin with. But as a young girl I thought, “Well, I’ll just marry a man who can do all the math stuff.”
A fine young feminist I was not, but I have changed a lot since 4th grade; the music I like, the books I read, the people I choose to associate with, all that’s changed more or less. But the thought of tiling a room on my own has not.
So, when my Oldest (who thinks I’m a smart, strong women) asked me to help him with this particular problem, I did what any smart, strong woman would do, and turned it around on him.
“Why do you need help with this? Didn’t you just go over it in class like 3 hours ago?”
“Yeah, but I forget.”
“You forget? I forget. I haven’t done this in
10 20 years! Let’s go ask your dad.”
Steven stared down at the problem and frowned, “Um…damn. I don’t remember how to do this. Can we look it up?”
I was shocked! “What do you mean you don’t know how to do this? I married you specifically because I thought you were good at all the math stuff!”
10-year-old Rachel would be so disappointed in the choices I’ve made.
We Googled the tiling-formula. Then The Oldest, looking quite disappointed in his heroes, said, “I can’t believe you guys don’t know how to do this. My teacher told me it’s something we’d have to know how to do.”
Dear God, it took every ounce of my being not to say, “Are they still saying that crap to kids?”
Eventually, Steven figured it out. I still don’t have the foggiest, and really don’t have it in me to learn. After that crisis was over, The Oldest said to his father, “Aren’t you glad I had you help me. Now when we put new tile in the kitchen you’ll know how to do it.”
Steven, the man who I love, replied, “Nah, we’ll just pay the installers to do it.”
So suck on that, Becky! Suck. On. That!