As I laid in bed this morning with a washcloth over my eyes, and under a sleep mask (for extra darkness) I hear the bathroom door open.
"Are you asleep?" comes barely audible from my husband.
"Yes," I reply, fully awake.
I thought he was going to come lie down with me until I fell asleep, which is our usual working weekend ritual. I come home at 7am, usually baring kolaches, and then I sleep next to him while he watches the news.
"What is so magical and mystical about pi?" he asks.
Even though my mind should be shutting down, pi is at the front. With the math classes I am taking, my brain never shuts down. I dream about differentiation.
"Pi has something to do with circles; it is a ratio of something, but it is a constant. No matter what size circle you have, pi is the same. Whatever, I mean the ratio always comes out pi."
"Are we talking apple or peach?" he quips.
"Blueberry. There is even a pi day. . . March. . . oh we missed pi day. Why do you want to know?" DH isn't mathematically inclined. When he was in school, math was just called math, not trig or calculus.
"Because it is pi day," he says as he leans in to kiss me.
"No that was the 14th. Today is the 15th. Do you know there are even people who have memorized pi to the thousands of places?" I offer.
"Yeah, that's nice. Go to sleep."
"You could just Google it."
"No, you answered the question."
As I lay in the darkness I started laughing. The feeling I had from the encounter was too much. The quiet opening of the door to the barely audible alert, all for an explanation of pi.
