My younger brother is convinced of my omniscience without doubt or question. He thinks I have a large, hulking book bound with the hide of Jesus Christ, the pages of which contain the answers to any quandary that life may propose, with perfectly organized glossaries and indices. I don’t know who told him this whopper, but it was ingrained indelibly and early. Anything from relationship advice to choosing bedding, my definitive input is requested, nay, required, before a decision can be alighted upon.
I, being a dutiful Big Sister, generally welcome his inquiries and try like hell to give him well thought out, Big Sisterly guidance – or, at the very least, make some shit up and attach a self-reflective and obfuscatory line of questioning to detract from the fact that I have no Earthly idea what the right answer is (“What do you feel about this? How have you come upon this pickle? What would Jesus do? Does Jesus like pickles?”).
Today, however, Little Brother crossed the line. He presented me with a math problem.
Before we continue, let me provide this addendum – I have always felt a special connection to that meme that bounced around the Internet a while back, the text reading “How I see math word problems: If you have 4 pencils and I have 7 apples, how many pancakes will fit on the roof? Purple, because aliens don’t wear hats.”
Now that we’ve cleared that up, back to Little Brother’s transgression. He had measurements for a room and wanted advice on furniture and decorating. He tried to cleverly disguise this, saying “I need your decorating advice. If I have a room that measures 14 x 16, and my assorted pieces of room adornments are yay big, how – ” which is right where I had to hold up my hand and say “Times! Do you realize that you have just asked me to help you solve a math word problem?” This was not decorating help, this was math help, and there ain’t no page in my magical Jesus Christ skin book for that. So I answered him to the best of my ability.
Purple, Little Brother, because aliens don’t wear hats.