Tuesday, March 25, 2014

less is more

The other day, Lumberjack and I saw this sign for the New and Improved crinkle cut fries at Burger King. Apparently these fries offer so much improvement that their very name guarantees you'll be happy.

satisfries. catchy.

So, I was sitting there thinking how TOTES OBVI it is that crinkle cut fries are just better anyway, when Lumberjack pops out this gem:

"Well, of course I would always pick crinkle-cut over regular-cut fries. You get more fry with a crinkle cut."

I stared at him like he had three heads.

"No. There's no way that's possible. Let's say it started out as a regular cut fry. And then someone came along with tiny fry-clippers and cut out all those little dents one by one. Now you have less fry."

I felt smug. But if he had three heads, it's obviously because he does three times the thinking that I do.

"No. You get more fry with a crinkle cut. It's a matter of surface area."

I closed my eyes. I hate feeling stupid. Especially over something like french fries.

"Who even thinks of fries in terms of surface area?"

"I think of everything in terms of surface area."

Well, that explains a whole lot. I'm over here thinking over everything in terms of what chairs would look like if our knees bent the other direction and he's thinking over everything in terms of surface area. We make a great pair.

Also, sidenote: we DO make a great pair. We celebrated our anniversary two weeks late and this is the card he gave me:


I think it was even Whirligig's idea to get this particular card, which says two really terrific things about her: (1) She's got her dad's sense of humor and (2) she knows exactly what kind of sentiment will appeal most to me - like an anniversary card given 2 weeks late and 53 years too early.

There was actually a good reason for delaying our anniversary celebration, and I shan't bore you with all those details, but in a nutshell: frozen pipes, leaky pipes, a gutted bathroom, a FURNACE FIRE, continual septic tank problems, a broken toilet, and also some litigation because things were starting to feel a little boring around here and it's always a nice pick-me-up to go to court. Also? Sometimes my kids get on my nerves and I think I might actually go crazy. Maybe that's just the Frozen soundtrack that's making me crazy, but it's closely tied to my children whose very existence, I suspect, truly revolves around Let it Go.

I had a moment where I felt like I was going to have a real, true-to-life nervous breakdown, and not just (even if mostly) because of the Frozen soundtrack, and wailed something to Lumberjack about how I just did not get why it was harder for me to deal with all of these Little Things happening at once than one Big Blob of a Thing. He had a two word answer that breathed life into my perspective:

"Surface area."

It all made sense at that point. I'd been looking at things by their mass. The satisfries and all my life-crazy. Once I looked at them by their measurable surface area, I could see I wasn't really crazy. There was truly more to deal with (and more fries to eat). I felt like I was beginning to understand the universe or quantum physics or how they inject jelly into jelly-filled donuts. Complicated stuff. I was getting it. And also not feeling quite as stressed out.

In conclusion, I have a two-part story. The first part goes like this: "Lumberjack almost lost two fingers to the tablesaw last week." The second part goes like this: "I managed to LOOK at my husband's hacked-up fingers without just throwing up right in his face."

As much as I'd like there to be a third part that goes like this: "I even know the DETAILS of how it happened," there's not. That part doesn't exist. That part won't exist. If that part existed, I would have to throw up right in his face, no two ways about it. What can I say? Hand injuries deal a crushing blow to my fortitude. But my final point is this: due to measurable surface area, he now apparently has MORE FINGER now that he has LESS FINGER.

LESS IS MORE.
I know. Mind-blowing.

The universe is a funny thing.