Pollyanna and the Spaghetti Cake of Doom

Lyda here.

Actually, the spaghetti cake was yesterday. No, wait, two days ago. But math is hard!

This is a joke between the Sith Master and me, ever since I told him about the talking Barbie doll that said “math class is tough.”

Recently, we were texting about the time we would meet for our weekly dinner-and-possibly-a-movie-and-definitely-hours-of-talking. And he sent “Math is hard!” And I laughed so hard that my roommates came upstairs to see whether it was finally time to call the men to cart me away to the nice padded room.

It’s doubly funny because he is a math wiz. He often corrects my feeble attempts at figuring tips and such. He can even do that funny math that has letters instead of numbers, which I refuse to have anything to do with. A girl has to draw the line somewhere, even if it is with an equal sign.

But I digress…

We often quote Monty Python in our texts, i.e.: “How’s it going? What time are we meeting? What is the air speed of an unladen swallow?

I am so going to get him one of these shirts. Shh, don’t tell him. And maybe this mug, as I used to sing this song to him as a child. What child wouldn’t love to hear “he was bisected accidentally…” as he was drifting off to sleep. And maybe a mug for My Brother the Professor. It’s all his fault, and he knows it. And this one for Anna-Liza… or maybe that one. And this one for Irish Beauty…

And don’t I wish I could hear my mom laugh at this one? I may need it in her honor.

Oops, digressing again…

To return to the first sentence of this post, which was the original thought and has gotten lost amid the digressions…


Play drum! Play drum!

Also, apparently I can’t spell spaghetti.

One of my best things, digressing… uh-oh, here we go again!


I wonder why I’m hungry now…


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