"Do I look like a frat boy?" asks the BF as we are leaving to go to dinner yesterday.
"I mean, maybe? Why are you asking? Let's go, I'm hungry," I say as I plug in my cell before it dies.
"But do you? Do I look like a frat boy?" he says, clearly not satisfied with my previous answer.
"Um, well you were part of that lame group, so yes, I guess you do look like a frat boy," I say, still wanting to leave the apartment because my stomach is growling. "Are you asking me because of the way you have that scarf tied?"
"No. Why? What's wrong with my scarf?" he says self-conscious of the scarf and his frat boy nature now.
"Nevermind," I mumble. "I'm listening."
"This little punk in the library called me 'frat boy' under his breath as he walked by. I don't think he realized that I was older than a frat boy, so I glared at him, slowly turning my head and gave him 'I can kick your ass' look," he says, very proud of himself.
"You were going to get into it with a pubescent teenager in the library?" I say laughing and picturing the BF glaring at this poor kid and his friend.
"Yes, I was going to get into it with him because he needs to respect his elders..... fuckin' punk."
And there you have it.