Twenty-four is a nice, round number. Versatile, it adapts to many situations. It’s useful, open. Divisible by 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 12 — how gregarious! How very friendly! Who doesn’t like 24? Perhaps 5, but if you have 3 on your side, who cares what 5 has to say. So many odd numbers suck, 5 being among the foremost. 13, good grief, there’s an awkward year — now wonder we leave that one off elevators. 15? Ha! You’re not driving Mr. Trying-to-be-an-Adult. Why don’t you ask your brother to give you a ride to that date of yours? 17 is okay I suppose. 17 allows for a lot of forgiveness. You messed up? Of course you did, you’re 17. You did well? Fantastic, you’re becoming a respectable adult ahead of your time. And 23… jesus 23. If ever a number needed to gain or lose one, it was 23: what an uneven number. Nobody likes you when you’re 23. The only worse number I can think of is 33. But 24. That’s a good one. That’s a number you can trust.
“There’s one spoilt spring to scant our mortal lot,
One season ruined of your little store.
May will be fine next year as like as not:
But ay, but then we shall be twenty-four.”