It is an unspoken rule that if a little kid is hiding under a blanket or couch cushions, you are required to comment on how lumpy the blanket is and pretend to sit on it to try and “smooth it out.”
seriously though the life of Ada Lovelace is some next level Mary Sue bullshit
oooh I’m the daughter of Lord Byron, I’m a countess, I get Dickens to come to my house to read me bed time stories in person, I’m learning mathematics from De Morgan, I know calculus, I take tea with Charles Darwin, I’m the world’s first computer programmer, I display a depth of understanding that won’t be reached in the software industry for another hundred years, la de fucking da
I opened the door and only Arthur came inside. It’s raining. I couldn’t find the other cat. She’s usually the first to come through the door, so I got slightly worried.