GREat (T)ex(t)pectations!

I took my GRE test for Grad School on Saturday morning.

The night before, Harry helped me cram for the math portion by "relieving my tension" with some coital bliss and then , in lieu of cuddling, we cracked open some mean Algebra.  He didn't mind - he loves numbers - so - really - if sports would have been on during the more intimate points of the evening - he would've been in testosterone heaven.  Wait a sec - IT WAS ON!  DAMN YOU SPORTCENTER!

Anyway, when we got to the Geometry review - I brushed it off "Nah - I hate that stuff - they won't ask me that..."

I wasn't too concerned - all I had to do was score something on the test to fulfill my English Grad requirement.

I arrive a full 45 minutes before the test starts and find a sweet corner spot in which to park my car.  I walk around to the back of the old Morrow library on campus and pull at the door handle.

It's locked.

Apparently - only ONE door can be used - and this was not it.

Twenty minutes later I arrive in the funnily smelling basement of the library.  I'm given a locker key and told to remove my purse, umbrella, paper pencils and coat and put it in the compartment.  I'm then strip searched, cavity searched and patted down before I'm allowed into the camera-filled room in which I am to test (okay - maybe it wasn't THAT bad - but I asked if I could keep my coat and they looked at me like I had just asked if I could pee in their dying houseplant). 

I have just made it through the majority of the written portion and can hear nothing but my own, phlegmatic, deep breathing ( I hate ear plugs) when I notice a small speck creeping towards my hand.

I look just as the tiny, crazed spider lunged for my index finger. I stifle a scream and instead smack it with the ear plug wrapper while jerking like the computer didn't like my answer and had chosen to retaliate with electroshock therapy. 

Getting through the essay portion was cake - now on to the word association. 

I stared at the grainy dark screen at two completely unrelated words.  Five more followed in their wake.   It was horrible.  I had no clue.  It was like:  abomination: chair and turkey: stapler.  I was shocked.   So - I just started clicking away. I just wanted it to go away.

I shouldn't have.

The next section was math.

I winced as I read thefirst problem involving a farmer, his fencing needs and something about the perimeter of the field.   Okay, I can do this.  P=135,  I wrote neatly on my provided yellow paper.  I glanced at the answers to try to gleam some clue on how to solve it.  No help.  I looked back at my paper.   Sighing I drew a rectangle on the paper, a stick figure with a pitch fork and then lined the rectangle with a picket fence.  I then looked back at the answers and then at the clock. 

I picked "c" and moved on.

Every single one of the math problems had the option to answer with "cannot derive an answer based on the information given."  It was very tempting to answer them ALL with this completely logic statement.  After all, I could not solve the problems with the information given!  

Somehow - I don't think the angry, short, white dudes who made up the test would agree.  

I got home and Harry asked "So, how'd ya do?"

"I think I bombed it," I said in a poor-me-who-didn't-even-remotely-study voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I bet you did fine!" he said and then hugged me, "hey -wanna go find out how many Wii's Kmart is getting?" 

And the rest is (me-kicking-my-hubby's-ass) History!