There is a flock of ten baby ducklings who live in the courtyard at East...I beg your pardon, Ender Hall. They are each of them miniscule floffly little bundles of cheeping adorability who cannot actually walk yet, so instead the tumble about and into each other and make tiny chirpling noises of confusion at the whole process. Then, because they are embarrassed, they flap their teensy wings in an attempt to be threatening and it
turned
me
into
A PUDDLE OF GOO.
I'm only mentioning this because we're deep into finals now, and some of you might make use of this when feeling particularly overwhelmed. Others of you will make grunty noises (which is the Large Male equivalent of tiny duckling chirpling, and approximately as effective a way of conveying information) and threaten to eat them. This is because you are afraid that if you also turn into a puddle of goo, everyone around you (read, me) will make arch queries regarding your masculinity.
Real men, incidentally, feel perfectly confident about allowing ducklings to gooify them.
That is all.
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