So two of my office mates are wearing pink today, and I was summoned to settle this argument that ensued over who wore what shade of pink. So I tell them that one of them was wearing salmon, the other carnation pink. Hey, I had a box of 64 Crayola crayons, how many did you have in yours? And Mr. Salmon replies that of course he had a box of 64, that's the one that comes with a crayon sharpener at the bottom of the box. And I tell him, no, that's a box of 48. The box of 64 has a sharpener in the middle of the giant box, with four mini-boxes of 16 crayons inside. Hah.
After all, you're talking to the kid who valiantly rescued a box of crayons during an intensity 7.3 earthquake (it was in 1990, and Cabanatuan City was the epicenter). I was in school then, and I had no idea what the hell an earthquake was. So the room was spinning, and I continued coloring away. I probably would have colored my way through the entire earthquake, never mind that almost all of the other kids have already left the room - I was that dense. So anyway, our house help at the time was also studying in the same school, and minutes later she barged into the classroom, screaming and crying, and dragged me to safety. But horror of horrors, I left my new box of erasable crayons all scattered on my desk. So I told her we had to go back. Of course she told me no, we can't go back. But my crayons are new and they're special (they're erasable), I said. I must have been such a brat because, in the middle of the friggin' earthquake we went back to my classroom to get the precious box of crayons, which I would discard soon after because in her haste to get us out of there alive, Ate Yolly broke quite a few crayons and dented the box. And we all know broken crayons do not look as pretty.