“You can’t build a time machine out of spare parts you found at a yard sale!” she told me.
But when my machine whirred to life, lights flashing and gears turning, opening a rift in the very fabric of time through which both it and I disappeared, I proved her wrong.
Now, trapped three thousand years in the past, staring at the wreckage of my creation, unable to buy parts to repair it, I realize what she meant.
You can build a time machine out of spare parts you found at a yard sale.
But not a very good one.