When I was moving to a new place, I bought a brand-new mattress.
The label said 4 ft.
I didn’t think much of it.
“Four feet? Sounds pretty small,” I told myself.
Then I converted it:
4 ft = 121.92 cm.
My bed frame?
120 cm.
I don’t even want to describe the chaos that followed.
Imagine trying to shove something into a space that’s just a little too small—
like forcing a phone into the wrong-sized case.
It doesn’t fit, but your pride refuses to give up.
Right there, in that moment of tragic comedy, I realized something:
math is useful.
Or at the very least, it could’ve saved me from a deeply unnecessary workout.
After that incident, I formed a new habit:
whenever I see measurements in feet or inches,
I don’t even try to “do the math” in my head anymore.
I just throw it into a converter—
like that little site I used once
(feettocm.net)
Type in the feet, the centimeters pop out,
no brain cells harmed.
Moving is already stressful enough.
If knowing the right dimensions ahead of time can save even a tiny meltdown,
I’ll take it.
A lot of things in life are like that:
you think they don’t matter—
until the moment they actually do.
Math, measurements, moving…
turns out they’re all connected in ways I didn’t expect.
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