Overheard in the BackSeatOnce or twice a week, I drive the morning carpool to Miranda's middle school. In the morning, we have two other kids, Mae, a lively seventh grader, and Jimmy, a quiet eighth grader. They are both great kids.
One of the rules at the school is that the older kids (7th and 8th graders) have to learn all the names of the new kids in the school by the end of October.
Yesterday as I was driving, Mae was quizzing Miranda on her classmates.
Mae: Which one is Simon?
Miranda: Which Simon?
Mae: There's more than one Simon?
Omigod.Miranda: There's Simon F. and Simon P.R.
Mae: Which one is kinda tall with red hair?
Miranda: Simon F.
Mae: The other Simon. Is he tall or short?
Miranda: Uh, kinda medium.
Mae: Does he have red hair? Or blond? Or brown?
Miranda: Uh, well, it's not black. It's not really red.
Mae: Is it straight or curly? Short?
Miranda: Uhm...
Mae: Is there three Simons? Or only two?
...
That entire exchange took about three seconds. This continued for about two minutes while I continued to drive.
Then I asked Jimmy, who was riding up front with me:
Me: Jimmy, do *you* know all the sixth graders' names?
Jimmy: No. But I *can* tell the difference between the Simons.
...
For some reason, I found this response very endearing.