I am typing from a quiet hotel room, sprawled across a bed in which I will sleep alone tonight and tomorrow. I'm at a conference. It took me longer to get here than I thought it would (construction + optimism, the twin foes of accurate travel time estimates), and I slipped right into the first session instead of eating lunch beforehand. I decided to get something to eat between the two afternoon sessions instead. One of the field's leading lights was going to be speaking, someone I've called The Emperor in this space before.
I missed the beginning of the second session, and the only person in the hallway outside the presentation room when I returned was a woman with a cute baby. I stopped to chat with them for a minute. "She was doing really well," said the woman, "and then she got fussy."
"Maybe she was saying, 'I disagree with your theoretical perspective,'" I joked. "Maybe she was saying, 'Sorry, Mr. Emperor, but you are wrong.'"
The woman looked distressed. She spoke urgently to her baby. "Do not say that to his face," she told her 5-month-old.
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