First Monday after school vacation, plus no hoped-for snow day, plus physics homework not finished till 1 a.m., equals two crabby boys to shoehorn onto the bus, but one is crabbier than than the other.

"And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel / And shining morning face, creeping like a snail / Unwillingly to school." Shakespeare, As You Like It.

How is it that WS can be right about every little thing there is? And how is it that the more I read his work, the more right he gets?