James and I were talking about something–him perkily, me with my usual groggy growl. The point of discussion wasn’t all that important, since it devolved quickly into “Bet you I can!” “Bet you you can’t.” (We’re so mature.)
James: “Well, there’s no way to prove it, so my theory must be correct!
Ursula: “What are you, a creationist? Just because you can’t prove or disprove it, it doesn’t mean it’s true!”
James: (breaking into song) “It’s…my theory, that’s my theory, like no theory I knoooow! So it…must…be…riiiiiiight…”
Ursula: (incoherent noises into coffee)
It’s still not as bad as the time he made me look something up in the Geneva Convention before breakfast.