I successfully avoided fractions for most of my adult life.
Then I bought a farm.
Now every conversation sounds like someone trying to summon a demon.
Two-cycle.
Fifty to one.
Five-eighths.
Three-quarter.
One-inch.
Two-inch.
Two-and-five-sixteenths.
At this point I’m convinced hardware stores are just math detention with fluorescent lighting.
Then they sell you pre-mixed chainsaw fuel for twenty-three bucks.
It’s basically Gatorade for angry lawn equipment.
Expensive?
Absolutely.
Still cheaper than explaining to my fiancée why I accidentally turned a chainsaw into modern art.
New here? The whole saga lives in Farm Stories & Fails, and the greatest hits are becoming an actual book. When 25 people pre-order, the presses roll.
