We are at Chipotle. We are sitting next to a table of seven pre-teen girls who are raucously showing each other their food, giggling maniacally and jostling around in their seats. We are quietly eating our food.Miguel (looking at the girls): Mama, they're not very mature are they? Vikki and Luisa (stunned, quietly snickering)
Miguel (interrupting the snickering): They are not mature.
This from the boy who hid a needle in his mouth a few weeks ago and likes to sing songs about poop.