Me (looking into microscope):
I have a question.
Prof (across the room):
Yes Tibia, what this time?
Nah man, this one's legitimate. I am seriously not understanding this concept.
Prof (reluctantly walks over):
What is it?
The lab manual wants me to distinguish between the two types of flowers on this daisy, but I'm not seeing two types here. These disc flowers are just immature ray flowers.
Are you looking at the edge of the head or in the middle?
Both. I've actually removed the flowers from half of the head and I can directly compare them all. The ones in the middle seem to open up, release pollen, then fully mature into ray flowers. How does that make them a separate type?
Immature and mature. Those are the two types.
I guess I don't understand how that makes them two distinct flowers.
You're working too hard at it, Tib. You've gone beyond what the scope of the manual is trying to cover at this point. Just be able to distinguish between the two types.
Immature and mature? Disc and ray?
Exactly. And you are right. That was a legit question.
I am just having a time with teachers this week. And my psychologist, too. Apparently, my fear of infants and pregnancy is weird enough that she would look at me like I'm totally unhinged. I think I might want to go back and find the reset button for this week, but on the other hand, maybe not.
I was the last student to leave lab, and I did get into a long and interesting conversation with the prof. I'd apparently confused him by being both the type of student to make a bajillion cracks about plant genitalia, yet I was interested and invested enough in the subject matter to go well beyond the scope of the lab. He'd more or less given up on me after instructing us to come up with g-rated pickup lines for flowers we were making and I wasn't quite complying. Apparently "I'll fill you up, buttercup!" tends to make teachers think a student doesn't care.