"Mom, the clock is 7 minutes behind." I pointed to the wall clock hanging about two feet from the ceiling, above the sink.

She turned to look at it, then looked back to me and shrugged, "It's too high to change it."

"Grab a ladder," I suggested.

"Yeah," she prolonged the word and sighed. "That would be a lot of work, though."

"Gee," I said sarcastically. "I wonder where I got my lazy genes from."

She looked at me with a straight face and said, "Your father."