Overheard earlier today, a Science lesson straight out of Dystopian science-fiction novel.
"What is the job of a flower?" (murmuring) "No, not to look pretty." (more murmuring) "No, not to smell good." (an incessant line of mumbling) "NO. The job of a flower IS TO MAKE SEEDS!"
I've moved back in with my mother, and so far, my main ways of coping have been Chinese take-out and nonstop NPR. The NPR doesn't bother her, but I think she's a little affronted by the Chinese, since she often stays up early just to slave over a hot stove for me and my dad.