You’re trying to decide what time everyone should leave in the morning.
“Seven,” you say. “Otherwise we’ll hit traffic.”
Your daughter looks at the map on her phone.
“It says an hour and fifteen minutes.”
“It’ll be worse tomorrow.”
“Maybe. But we don’t need to leave at seven.”
You look at her.
“I’ve driven there a hundred times.”
“I know. I’m just saying we could probably leave at eight.”
“Then leave at eight.”
She looks up.
“What?”
“If you already know everything, do whatever you want.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to.”
She puts her phone down.
“Fine. Seven.”
You shake your head.
“Don’t talk to me like that.”