Dana

Dana had four beautiful eyes. She wore glasses. But her eyes were so beautiful that the glasses only made her prettier. With two eyes she was pretty. With four eyes she was beautiful. With six eyes she would have been even more beautiful. And if she had a hundred eyes, all over her face and her arms and her feet, why, she would have been the most beautiful creature in the world.
But poor Dana wasn't covered from head to foot with beautiful eyes. She was covered with mosquito bites.
Mrs. Jewls picked up her yardstick and said,' 'Now it's time for arithmetic."
"Oh, no, Mrs. Jewls," said Dana. "I can't do arith¬metic. I itch all over. I can't concentrate." "But we have all kinds of arithmetic," said Mrs. Jewls, "addition without carrying, addition with carry¬ing, and carrying without addition."
"I don't care," cried Dana.
"We have that, too," said Mrs. Jewls, "addition with¬out caring. Now, stop carrying on."
Dana whined, "I can't, Mrs. Jewls. I itch too much."
"And I'm too thirsty," said D.J.
"I'm too tired," said Ron.
"I'm too hungry," said Terrence.
"I'm too stupid," said Todd.
Mrs. Jewls hit her desk with her yardstick. Everyone stopped talking.
Mrs. Jewls said, "We are going to have arithmetic now, and I don't want to hear another thing about it."
"But, Mrs. Jewls, I really do itch. I can't do arith¬metic," Dana whined.
"No," said Mrs. Jewls. "Arithmetic is the best known cure for an itch. How many mosquito bites do you have?"
"I don't know," said Dana, "over a hundred. First I try scratching one, but then another one starts to itch. So I scratch that one, and that one stops, and another one starts. So I scratch that one, and the itch moves down to another one. Then it goes back to the first one. The itch just never stays in the same place. I just can't scratch them all."
"What you need is a good, strong dose of arithmetic," said Mrs. Jewls.
"I'd rather have calamine lotion," said Dana.
"Remember, Dana," said Mrs. Jewls, "mosquito bites itch, not numbers."
"So what?" said Dana.
Mrs. Jewls continued. "We'll just have to turn your mosquito bites into numbers."
"I'm a mess," Dana moaned.
Mrs. Jewls began to turn the mosquito bites into num¬bers. "How much is three mosquito bites plus three mos¬quito bites?" she asked.
Rondi raised her hand. "Six mosquito bites," she an¬swered.
' 'How much is six mosquito bites minus two mosquito bites?" asked Mrs. Jewls.
"Four mosquito bites," said D.J.
"How much is five mosquito bites times two?" asked Mrs. Jewls.
"Ten mosquito bites," said Bebe.
"Very good," said Mrs. Jewls.
"I still itch," Dana complained.
"I've got one more question," said Mrs. Jewls. "How much is forty-nine mosquito bites plus seventy-five mos¬quito bites?"
Nobody raised a hand.
"Think, class," said Mrs. Jewls. "This is for Dana."
Nobody knew the answer. Dana's itch began to get worse and worse.
At last, Dana began counting her own mosquito bites. She counted seventy-five on one side and forty-nine on the other. Then she added them together for a total of one hundred and twenty-four mosquito bites.
"One hundred and twenty-four mosquito bites," Dana called.
"Very good," said Mrs. Jewls.
Dana had one hundred and twenty-four mosquito bites. And none of them itched anymore.
"I'm still thirsty," said DJ. "Can arithmetic do any¬thing for that?"
"I'm still tired," said Ron.
"I'm still hungry," said Terrence.
"I'm still stupid," said Todd.
"I'm glad we turned my mosquito bites into numbers instead of letters," said Dana. "I could never spell mos¬quito. "