She needs to come with a universal translator

At nine this morning it was mostly cool out, and Rachel tried to leave the house (headed to watch Alex's swim team tryouts because SETH! was going to be there) in a skin tight t-shirt, barely there shorts, and sandals. Alex and I were both wearing sweatshirts; she wanted to go out half dressed.

I didn't have to say a word; I shook my head and pointed towards her bedroom and she started to stomp off, flinging God, don't chuck a spaz, Dad! at me as she passed me.

I have no idea what that means, and Alex just shrugged.

I'm, like, totally, like, you know, completely out of touch, I guess.