This is a story of addiction and rehabilitation, of persistent obsession conquered, insidious compulsion tamed.
As a child I was over fond of Euclidean geometry. Even in kindergarten I spent protracted time measuring angles. I admit it, but I suppose it was to be expected, as I was born by conical section under the sign of Torus.
As a youth I lost my compass, and spent years searching for the perfect circle. Like many young people at that time, I became a follower of the guru, Pythagoras, before finding his mysterious hypotenuse.
The sixties was the era of free love. I suppose I was a bit of a square, for I missed out on most of that, although I did have an infatuation with an Ellipsoidal nun - until I managed to kick the habit.
It wasn’t until after that unfortunate incident with the pentangle that I overcame my obsession with multilaterals. I suppose I must have an addictive personality, because no sooner was I free of the cravings for polygons than I began to gamble, losing half my life savings on the toss of a coin. The other half disappeared on a throw of the dice.
Penniless and homeless, I joined a circus, performing on the trapezium for a while and then on the trick cycloid. It was here that I met Dot, a contortionist of note who could turn herself into a Mobius stripper. I spun her a long line and we became close. Then one night on the high wire I suffered a corollary. I fell, fracturing my radius, and that was the end of my circus career.
Dot nursed me back into shape and we got married. Our daughter, Isosceles, followed in my footsteps, juggling hoops on the high wire. Scalene joined the US army and got a desk job at the Pentagon.
So be warned all you young men and women, the protractor is not to be tangled with. If you get your hands on one, treat it with respect. Keep it out of reach of children and avoid anything curvaceous or remotely theoretical.
