I knew it was gonna be one of THOSE days when James woke me up (I was in that groggy alarm-thumping stage that precedes waking, but isn’t quite sleep) by bouncing into the room and saying “I’ve just figured something out about creationists!”
“Oh, lord,” I said, sitting up. (I detest creationism as much as the next product of millions of years of hominid evolution, but going from zero to frothing rage is a hard way to enter consciousness.)
“It’s not about being right! It’s just about keeping the argument open and making it look as if there’s a question!”
“Congratulations,” I muttered, staggering into the bathroom.
“And also–it assumes everyone’s a Christian! I mean, I wouldn’t care if it was in the schools if they also taught, oh–you know–”
“Buddhism and Hindu creation myths,” I said automatically, groping for the toilet paper. “Father Raven creating the earth from tortoiseshells…”
There was a pause.
“There isn’t any real argument.”
“Nope.” I staggered to my desk. James followed me.
“They’re just trying to make it look as if there is one.”
“Because you don’t have to win the argument, you just have to make it look as if there iS an argument.”
“Yeah, it sucks.”
In retrospect, I dunno if I should be glad this is obvious, or mildly horrified that I had failed so utterly to communicate this beforehand, but y’know.