My daughter’s sixth grade math class took a field trip to the Dollar General this week. The teacher’s intention was to present the students with an opportunity for calculating the unit rate of items in a real-world setting (and perhaps to show them where they’d end up working should they choose to blow off their homework). What Carrie learned from the outing was that Mexican snack food is delicious.
“Mom, they have these Mexican cookies at the Dollar General,” she says. “I mean, I guess they are Mexican. The writing on the package is in Spanish. Anyway, they’re delicious. And they only cost me a dollar.”
“And what is the unit rate? How much does that come to per cookie?” I ask.
“Um, I don’t remember, but just listen. They’re like round crackers, and they have this chocolate filling. So good. You have to try them,” she says.
“Well, if they’re that good, I don’t want to try them,” I say. “I’m barely staying away from the cookies I already know about.”
“Mom, you’re tiny,” Carrie says, and with that, she touches the pads of her thumb and index finger to create a delicate circle (which I assume is meant to be me – my circumference).
“Tiny?!” I say. And truly, I am as flattered as I can possibly be to learn my daughter finds me “tiny.” I have been really conscious about my diet lately. I have dropped about sixteen pounds since the Summer ended. I am pleased that it is starting to show.
“I mean, thanks,” I say, “but I don’t know about ‘tiny.'”
“Mom, I said they’re tiny; the cookies. They’re the size of quarters.”
Carrie smirks, then looks down. She is so embarrassed for me. I am a fool. A plump fool. The gesture she’d made with her fingers – it had been to demonstrate the size of the cookies, not my waist. She does not think I’m tiny. And maybe I’m not. But I did buy a “Tiny” dress at Anthropology this year. Here is the tag…
It’s a Tiny dress, and it fits me. Even when I’ve been getting into the cookies.