There is a certain elitist discriminatory practice whose purpose it is to put an extra razor-wire frill above the electric fence on top of the eight-metre-high two-metre-thick concrete-encased lead wall that separates the have-maths from the have-not-maths.
“Oh, don’t be silly, it’s not that difficult,” the number-abled will simper, “Look, I’ll show you…”
And it always ends in tears, for the differently-abled one. The genius will be smirking and puffed up and superior. But again, as I’ve said before, somebody has to make the sandwiches. I really think people ought to be nicer to the ones who make the sandwiches.
Read more about this scourge in an article by Tom Eaton, here: http://www.mg.co.za/articlePage.aspx?articleid=279760&area=/insight/insight__columnists
I am, as you know, his Number One Fan.
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2 comments:
Hmmm... I like Sudoku, but I like sandwiches too. Tough call.
It is said that you may know a man by the company he keeps. Since I am keeping company with a Philosopher, a Starfleet Captain and now a Mathematician, what kind of man (honourary of course - I have tried to grow a beard but it's just not happening. Pesky ovaries)does that make me?
Oh. Yes of course, dammit. The one who makes the sandwiches. *sigh*
Can I interest anyone in a crispy baguette with Haloumi, tomato, rocket and avocado? It's breakfast time and the bath songs have made me strangely peckish.
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