Now that it's the middle of one of the most chaotic winters in recent memory, I'd like to remind you of something that's pretty much a fixture: the teenager who's underdressed for the cold. It doesn't seem to matter if the wind is blowing at thirty miles an hour or if the daytime high is in the low single digits of the Fahrenheit scale, you're going to see some kid running around as if it's a far warmer day. While the first impulse is to mutter about how no sense means no feeling, Lynn does something useful by accident when explaining why it is that children do stuff like that. This is because in a few years, we'll begin the annual tradition of Elly running her mouth about the need to dress warmly only to be confronted by the baffling-to-her problem of children who'd rather freeze than follow her helpful suggestions and not at all badgering and yapping. As history teaches us, Elly has something of an aversion to accepting the fact that she's seen not as a helpful, kindly, loving mother who wants the best for her children but as a malicious, blathering killjoy who only had children so she could have people to torment out of the malice, rage and envy that make up her personality; this is because of her companion aversion to admitting that the point of being a parent in the first place is to produce autonomous individuals who are destined to replace her in the fabric of society when her puerile vanity needs to have them be extensions of her own stupid will. They aren't testing the limits to find out what works and what doesn't like she did, Hell, no. They're doing that because they hate her and want her to suffer. Only on very rare occasions does it sink in that most of the problem she had dealing with her children suffered from the crippling delusion that she was sallow, aged before her time and ten pounds too heavy to be loved.