fifth grade math

      In the particular type of neighborhood where my parents live, a ringing doorbell can only mean one thing. It's an event which occurs every spring with only three variations. The variables this time: let x= two, y=girls, and z=pecan pies (whose value is greater than wrapping paper). The result of the equation has always been a constant, the equation being: x plus y plus "doorbell" plus "fundraiser" plus "selling" plus z = "please come back when my parents are home."

     "Oh!" the x y giggled. "Sorry, we thought you were a grown up."
     "I'm not," I assured them with utter confidence.
     "Wow! You look like a grown up."
      "I'm not."

     Then they complimented my earings, and we talked about the redsox, and they marvelled at the twelve foot tropical tree that has turned my parents' foyer into a jungle. (So I told them the story of the tree in our entranceway, the telling of which involved definitions of "bat mitzvah" and "centerpieces".) They showed me glossy photographs of z and told me they were glad I wasn't a yankees fan.

     After a while: "How old ARE you?"
      "Twenty-four."
     The gasp was audible. I think they even took a step backwards. "Twenty-four, is grown up!"
     "No it's not!"
     "Really?"
     "It's not!"

     And a few minutes later they took their marketing campaign to the next house on the block and I went back to eating chocolate chips in front of the tv.

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