Thrashing Stinks

Christmas day was at my house this year. A good 15 relatives and friends were over and everyone seemed to have a nice time.

My parents and nephew were over tonight for Christmas leftovers. Before they left, I remembered I’d been wanting to move my TV and its stand a bit more to the right (it’s 165lbs), so I roped them into helping me.

“Dad and I will lift the TV while you guys slide the stand. I want to move it 8 inches or so.”

My dad tossed a magazine onto the floor. “Put that where you want the stand slid over to.”

I moved it.

“That’s like a foot!”
“What? There’s no way that’s a foot.” (me)
“That’s at least a foot.”
“I’ll bet ya 20 bucks.” (me)

We shake hands, send my nephew to the garage to get the tape measure, and begin arguing about the specifics of the exact bet.

“I’m saying that’s not 12 inches.” (me)
“I’m not betting that! I’m saying that distance is at least 12 inches.” (he thought I was trying to trick him with my wording)
“Okay, I follow you. That’s what I meant. I’m saying that distance is less than 12 inches.” (me)
“Okay.”

While my nephew (and mom now) are looking for the tape measure, my dad keeps eyeing the distance.

“That’s gonna be close.”
“No way! That’s like 10 and 1/2 inches! I’ll even give you a quarter inch… but I’m not.”

My nephew comes back with the tape measure.

10.75 inches, $20 hard earned

I do, however, have to confess that I second-guessed myself. “He measures things ALL DAY. You may have lost this one.” That was quickly quelled. You see, a year or two ago I had a realization while looking at a 12-inch ruler: My concept of 1 foot was flawed. It stood out to me because I am a guy who finds great utility in being as precise as possible. I made a point to mentally correct my aged and rarely tested concept of a foot.

The moral of the story? Don’t mess with anal and neurotic introverts. Or something.