Me: I KNOW you think you're THIRTY YEARS OLD

Owen: Well, I DO

Me: But you are SIXTEEN

Owen: But people TELL  me I'm an old soul

Me: But you are SIXTEEN

This went on for awhile. Finally we both sighed, and I said, "Oh, for God's sake, get me a glass of wine, I deserve it." He came back in holding the shameful box while the last of it trickled into a goblet. I said, "I hate you." He said, "Well, why are you laughing?"