I referred to someone as a "Wasp" the other day and The Skeeze chuckled. "A Wasp? Like the bug??"
Me: "A White Anglo-Saxon Protestant. Don't tell me you've never heard that before?"
The Skeeze: "You can't just go around making up words."
Me: "Are you kidding me? I know you've lived in a cave all of your life*, but this is really bad."
The Skeeze: "That's almost as bad as the acronym on that fortune cookie you got a while back:"
Me: "Well, you may as well put it to memory so you don't look like a dumbass next time you hear it."
The Skeeze: "I don't accept it though. It just goes to show that people make up words whenever they feel like it."
Me: "You don't have to accept it. It continues with or without you. After all, it has been around a good 200 years now. Your emotional issues with it aren't going to keep it out of the English vernacular."
At this moment, Charlotte's brother, on Sex and the City, berates her for not having vodka: "And you call yourself a wasp?"
Oh, how I love being right.
*I've mentioned it before, but the Skeeze hadn't seen The Wizard of Oz until I force-fed it to him earlier this year. His cave-dwelling qualities can be summarized in a short novel, which I can not write right now. Just trust me on this one.