Wonderboy, inquiring about my evening plans: What will you do at twelve o’clock?
(We’ve already covered nine, ten, and eleven o’clock.)
Me: I’ll go to bed, probably.
Rilla (gasps): Twelve o’clock at night?
Rilla, incredulous: You mean there are minutes in the night??
Eowyn For the Win
Who Says Latin’s a Dead Language?
The Temper of the Shrew
I’m Not Sure I’m Following
Seal of Inevitable Fate