Over the weekend, I asked Tom to mail a letter I had sitting on the table. He was on his way out with Dagny and grabbed the letter, giving it a quick glance before putting it in his pocket.
“Is that a 6?” he asked after glancing at the first digit of the postal code I had written.
“Uh yea, of course it’s a 6. What else would it be?” I replied.
“OK, and that 2nd digit, that’s a 2 right?” he continued.
At this point, I got up to take another look at my envelope thinking maybe the ink smeared or he was messing with me. But nope, it was my perfectly legible (to me) penmanship. Clearly a 6 and 2. And he was seriously asking me to clarify what I’d written.
He wasn’t entirely sure. He was pretty sure but had to check just in case.
Tom and I often have this number conversation when either one of us writes something down that contains a number. His 4’s confuse me. I always make sure his 1’s aren’t 7’s. He doesn’t like my loops. His number 9 looks like a lowercase g.