Herself: I thought T.S. Eliot only wrote cat poems.
Me: Um, no, he’s probably more famous for somewhat less accessible poems.
Herself: Like what?
Me (handing her a book of T.S. Eliot poetry which I have to hand, I am almost unbearably smug): Have a look at this.
Her (after perusing for some time): ‘April is the cruellest month’ is clearly clickbait. I mean, it’s really, ‘You won’t believe this one astonishing fact that makes April worse than all the other months.’
