As we all know, pi is irrational. For referential ease we usually shorten it to the fifth decimal, though of course there have always been those who flaunted their memory by parroting the string of infinite numbers beyond our patience.

We used to joke when we were jocular that pi in shorthand is two legs and a roof.

In philosophical realism we realize the infinitely unreachably inexplicable relation between our radial selves in relation to the circle of our own circumference, like the disparity of means and ends.

No, I wasn’t talking about that.

No, Zeno didn’t lose a pair of sox.

Yes, I know, even the Greeks were ancient. Yes, history.

No, I can only imagine how Schroedinger fed his cat.

Yes, I know you can slice pie evenly.

Yes, I know pumpkin is seasonal and only comes around as the world turns, though of course, with modern transportation and refrigeration technology we can eat grapes in the winter because of Chile and Peru.

Yes, I like apple, the elevated upper crust. And lemon meringue, those disparate yet contiguous layers curated to impinge the palate simultaneously.

No, I don’t follow you either.

No, it is the same world.

What’s that? You went to “regular” school? And what did you learn?
Boys, how to drive a car? Girls, how to scramble an egg?

No, co-ed means together, like a twofer. And they taught you what? “Don’t rush it?” and “Wait until after graduation?”

Yes, of course I can read. A map? No, I don’t see Easy Street in Our Town.

Yes, we must have some thing in common. Neither of us nose how much is a half nother.

I see.

No, I don’t need glasses.

No, I wasn’t born then either.

Real eyes? Yes, I real eyes that everything you learn is from the movies.

We have here what?

“We have here a failure to communicate.”

You said it.

I know, I know, I know, I can go on and on and already did.

What?

What? What? What?

Real eyes? Yes, I real eyes