It's like if someone asks "What's cotton?" And you respond "My grandmother's favorite shirt." It's great you like your grandmother's shirt so much, and maybe you'll inherit it someday, but this kid has not clue what cotton is and has never seen your grandmother wear that shirt, because he's two-and-a-half years old and only saw your grandmother once when you went in for lemonade while she was visiting. Plus, it's actually 30% polyester anyway, so it's not really a good representation of cotton. You don't have to take the kid to pick cotton, of course, but at least tell him the first time "It's a plant used to make some different fabrics" so that when someone asks him "what's cotton?" He doesn't say "my best friend's grandmother's favorite shirt". Welcome to the metaphor torture chamber, by the way.
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Hamilton is not your grandmother's favorite shirt, fluff's sake!
Whenever I feel overwhelmed, I take a deep breath and say, The Rojas.
I switch between wanting a sandwich and having a strict dress code with no cause or transition.