Dear, Metric System,
One time, when I was in the 3rd grade, I learned all about you.
I learned about millimeters and centimeters and grams and kilograms and liters and more. I learned how to convert you into inches and pounds and ounces and gallons and vice versa. It was great. I was knowledgeable of all things measurement-related. And, I got to use both sides of my ruler.
And then I graduated from the 3rd grade and no longer had to use you because I’m American, and it’s very un-American to use you. For anything in the United States. Ever.
Through no fault of your own, I am now slightly exasperated by you thanks to my frequent travels to a country that uses you every day, all day, because, well, the entire world outside of the United States uses you—every day, all day.
Suddenly, I’m forced to try to remember my 3rd grade years—which I hated because I hated all things elementary and my daily uniform of culottes—and exactly how many milliliters are in a cup. Or their equivalent in ounces. Or how many liters are in a gallon. Or how long it will take me to travel 15 kilometers.
I do not blame you. You tried unsuccessfully to catch on in the U.S. But, that just wouldn’t be American of us—to use the same system that the rest of the world uses.
I fear I can no longer get away with relying on the Imperial system to measure life around me. And that may take me one step farther away from being truly American. But, by golly, it sure will make it easier for me to figure out exactly how many serving sizes are in a box of crackers or a carton of yogurt. Or if I really am getting a good deal on fuel.
And THAT will be totally worth it.
P.S. I’m not entirely sold on the Celsius thing. Telling someone it’s a blazing-hot 29 degrees outside just sounds wrong.