Sometimes the stories we live by don’t make sense until we change our perspective. (Photo by Andrew Gustar, Flickr)

When I was in college, I once walked in on my roommate filling ice trays at the sink, a cloud of steam billowing around her face. I stopped and put my books down.

“Uh, Jenny, what are you doing?”

She turned, still holding the tray under the hot water, her expression what I would have expected if I’d just asked her what planet we lived on.

“Filling the ice trays.”

“With hot water?”

She made a face as if this question was, if possible, even dumber than the first. “Duh. It freezes faster.”