I knew it was gonna be one of THOSE days when James woke me up (I was in that groggy alarm-thumping stage that precedes waking, but isn’t quite sleep) by bouncing into the room and saying “I’ve just figured something out about creationists!”

“Oh, lord,” I said, sitting up. (I detest creationism as much as the next product of millions of years of hominid evolution, but going from zero to frothing rage is a hard way to enter consciousness.)

“It’s not about being right! It’s just about keeping the argument open and making it look as if there’s a question!”

“Congratulations,” I muttered, staggering into the bathroom.

“And also–it assumes everyone’s a Christian! I mean, I wouldn’t care if it was in the schools if they also taught, oh–you know–”

“Buddhism and Hindu creation myths,” I said automatically, groping for the toilet paper. “Father Raven creating the earth from tortoiseshells…”

“Yeah!”

“Uh-huh.”

There was a pause.

“There isn’t any real argument.”

“Nope.” I staggered to my desk. James followed me.

“They’re just trying to make it look as if there is one.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Because you don’t have to win the argument, you just have to make it look as if there iS an argument.”

“Ooo…coffeee….”

“That’s…that’s…

“Yeah, it sucks.”

In retrospect, I dunno if I should be glad this is obvious, or mildly horrified that I had failed so utterly to communicate this beforehand, but y’know.