Little Matty and I are watching the radar for Hurricane Ophelia.  Something's wrong with the radar, because suddenly the storm disappears. 

WG:  Oh!  She got herself to a nunnery!

LM:  Huh?

WG:  You know, like from Hamlet?

LM:  I thought that was from Macbeth.

WG:  No, Macbeth is "Out damned spot, out I say!  All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand."

(from the hallway, our HR person overhears.)

HR person:  What language is that, young lady?

WG:  Elizabethan English?