C (age 16): Read it now! It’s much better.
J (age 17): Are you still working on the same story?
C: Yeah. I made it better.
J: Just leave it alone and come hang out.
C: I can’t.
J: You can’t?
C: No. I can’t. I’m on a quest.
J: A quest!
C: A quest for est!
J: What kind of quest is that?
C: I want to do the b-est! And be the smart-est!
J: And the lame-est?
C: Dude.
J: You’ll be the smart-est! And the lame-est! And that’s how it goes!
C: It’s not lame.
J: I didn’t call it lame. I called you lame.
C: I’m not lame.
J: Then you better rename your quest.

My mom recently handed me all of my childhood memorabilia in a box. Inside the box, and undated letter on a sheet of lined yellow paper from a legal pad:

 Dear Ms. Santa,

As you know I am a wonderful child and have been considrably *good. For Christmas this year I have carefully selected the most usfull items if your name is Celeste and you live on Murano Road. 

I made a picture for you and left you some cookies. Merry Christmas!

 *Howevere, spelling is not my strog point.

I have decided I am going to start all of my talks from now on with the same line: “As you know, I am a wonderful cognitive scientist…”