A group of boys, just old enough to drink, were at the bar last night.
They shoot expensive scotch and shout over each other declaring the physical attributes of the women they know,
“Her boobs are a ten.”
“Her ass is great.”
“Her boobs are a ten. She’s not a ten.”
“She’s a 7.5 at best.”
“I don’t think it’s going to hold up.”
“She’s not gonna look good when she’s thirty.”
“Yeah by the time she’s thirty, forget it.”
There’s a chorus of agreement.
Hey! I’m thirty-one and I’m not decrepit.
One of the boys throws a piece of paper over the bar in my general direction. They try to order another round. I ask them,
“Are you going to behave yourselves?”