(Last night, Max had a longtime bud over to our house to hang out. Since I don’t like thunderstorms — lightning in particular — the teenager boy banter I overheard kept my mind off of the bolts of light that seemed to strike threateningly again and again outside my bedroom window.)

— Watching Television —

Max (16 years old): We are NOT watching that movie. No way.

Friend: But it’s my favorite.

Max: I’ve seen it a hundred times and so have you.

Friend: It’s my favorite. The best part is when —-

Max: I know all the best parts because we’ve seen it a hundred times. Why do you want to watch it again?

Friend: Because it’s my favorite. We need to watch it. Dude, I brought you a burrito. You should be less cranky with your guests.

Max: You’re not a guest. You’re just you. I’ve known you since we were at preschool.

(They start arguing about another movie title for possible viewing.)

— Food —

Max: No! Not that drawer. Don’t use those bowls. She’ll have a cow.

(She would be me, the mother…pffft. At least no one called ME a cow which would be way more insulting than, “She’ll have a cow.” Right?)

Friend: Which cabinet? This drawer? There’s like a multitude of drawers and cabinets in here.

Max: On the left….middle drawer. Left!

(Clanking sounds)

Friend: Get in here and help me find the freakin’ bowl I should use.

(Loud discussion about “left”…and from whose perspective.)

— Interacting with the Dogs —

Max: She’s having a hissy. She doesn’t like you.

Friend: No kidding.

Max: Don’t look at her.

Friend: I’m not!

Max: Shhhht! Daffy, stop that!

Friend: She’s like growling. Her lip is curling. There’s spit. Fierce little critter.

Max: I told you not to look at her. Just ignore her.

Friend: How come the bull dog is so chill but the puny one is all aggressive?

Max: Don’t call her puny. She’s tough.

Friend: Umm….yea.

Max: She doesn’t like how you smell or something. The dogs’ smellers are very sensitive.

Friend: What are you talking about? I just showered before we went and got the burritos. I totally smell like soap and burritos. She should love how I smell.

Max: She only loves how I smell.

Friend: Are these dogs coming to Martha’s Vineyard with us?

Max: No.

Friend: Thank God!

Max: Scared?

Friend: No. But put her in the damn crate, will ya?

Max: Alright. She’s totally wearing me out.

Friend: Ya think?! (Pause) I hate this movie. We gotta pick another one.