Matt Math: The Giggles Are Taller Than You Think
I was never great at math in school. Numbers and formulas made me break out in hives faster than goat poop on new boots. But since living on the farm, I’ve realized math is everywhere—measuring out feed, counting eggs, and figuring out how many times Henry the donkey can steal a carrot before I lose my patience.
The problem is, my version of “farm math” doesn’t look like anything you’d find in a textbook. Take last week, for example.
I walked out to the barn with one simple task: deliver three buckets of feed. Easy enough, right? Until you factor in Henry, two sneaky goats, and one mud puddle the size of a small lake. Suddenly, my equation wasn’t 3 buckets ÷ 3 animals = 1 happy farmer. No, it was:
3 buckets – 1 goat stealing bucket #1 – 1 donkey knocking over bucket #2 – me tripping into mud = 1 bucket left and zero dignity.
If you’re following along, you can see why I’ve come to call this style of arithmetic “Matt Math.”
But here’s the wild thing about Matt Math: no matter how messy the problem gets, the solution usually ends in giggles. And giggles, as I’ve learned, are a kind of currency that multiply fast.
Like when I slipped in the mud, arms flailing like a cartoon character, and Henry stood over me with a bray that sounded suspiciously like laughter. I could have been frustrated (okay, I was frustrated), but then I heard my neighbor’s kid laughing from the fence line, doubled over, unable to breathe. And just like that, my embarrassment transformed into a contagious fit of giggles.
It’s strange how laughter works like that—it doesn’t subtract from you, it adds to everyone around you. If I giggle, then you giggle, and suddenly we’ve multiplied joy without even trying. In fact, I’ve realized that giggles are taller than you think. They stretch higher than a barn roof, ripple further than a field of corn, and last longer than a donkey’s appetite.
Later that day, I posted a clip of my “mud equation” on TikTok. Within hours, thousands of people were commenting things like, “Henry has better comedic timing than most stand-ups” and “this is the only math I’ll ever understand.” It wasn’t polished, it wasn’t perfect—but it was real. And real has a way of connecting people faster than any formula ever could.
So maybe I’ll never solve algebraic equations or calculate square roots without breaking into a cold sweat. But here’s what I do know:
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1 donkey + 1 farmer + 1 bucket of feed = chaos.
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Chaos ÷ embarrassment + time = laughter.
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And laughter × community = something bigger than both of us.
That’s Matt Math. It’s not logical. It’s not neat. But it proves, time and again, that the giggles are taller than you think. They tower over mistakes, stretch past frustrations, and stand strong even when you’re covered in mud.
And honestly? I’ll take that over algebra any day.
