Fair Point

Mid-morning, we're still in bed, Katie nestled on my chest, and I'm ranting about the song "Drops of Jupiter" by Train, as you do. "They had an almost perfect song, like, a beautiful song, and they started singing about fried chicken and 'the best soy-latte that you ever had,' and just ruined it."

"You should write them a letter," Katie mumbles sleepily. Then, more clearly, "And make sure you put the date on it so they'll know you're still mad about a song they wrote twenty years ago."