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?"
Onward.