Friday, July 3, 2009


Farkle. I cannot grasp this concept no matter how hard I try. I even read the directions for playing. It seemed simple enough. I clicked on the dice cup. Some dice rolled out. I randomly picked ones that looked like they matched. I clicked the cup again and the dice rolled again. Then the letters on the screen said FARKLE! Which if this is anything like Bingo must indicate that I have won. So just to follow the proper Bingo rules, I yelled to no one in particular: FARKLE!
I was so happy that I won on the first try. Then all the little dice disappeared and I realized that the game was starting over. So I did the same thing again, and Farkled again. I was under the impression that I was a FARKLE genius. Mais non. (Translated to english "But No." This is the only thing I can remember from French class besides the term "Ferme le bouche", which I've probably spelled improperly.) But I digress.

So I stared at the directions again. They were as clear as mud. I even asked my mother, the Farkle Queen, about this crazy game. She began spouting out numbers and matches and what is good & what is bad & none of what she was saying was even trying to go into my ear canal. It all bottle necked outside my ear & refused to go in.

There is a clear and simple explanation for my Farkle stupidity. It's the numbers.
Numbers hate me. I hate them. The only time they are relevent to me is when they have a dollar sign in front of them or are indicating the time of day. Other than that me & numbers don't jive. It started way back in high school when my dad made me take Algebra II. He wanted me to raise the bar, so to speak. The only thing I raised was Mr. Brode's blood pressure. I was clearly not one of his A or B students.

I used to shoot pool for fun now & then. Until. My husband was helping me line up a difficult shot & I asked him how he knew where to hit the ball. "It's just simple geometry" he said. I laid down my pool stick & haven't touched the game since. The idea of pool relating in some way to math just swooped down upon me like a dementor and sucked all the fun - WHOOSH- right out of it.

I don't know why I'm number disabled. There is surely a phobia in there somewhere. Someday they'll do a study & come up with some silly name for it. Just like they did with Restless Leg syndrome. Heck, I've had that since I was wee little. We didn't know it was an actual affliction though. My family just thought I was weird & mom would send me outside to run around before bed so I could lay still. And then 25 years later - HA - Restless Leg Syndrome! So I'm very curious to see how this turns out with numbers and if there is a cure for it. In the meantime I'll just try to farkle when no one is around to smell it.

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