Bobby hummed, both hands folded behind his head then as he considered and rocked on his heels. 2%? That didn't sound like much to him, but her vehemency was pretty convincing. "Okay, but," he started, one hand held between them like he might snatch out of the air the words he was trying to find. "You're talking about outlawing something that people could be taught to be more, like, aware of," he continued carefully, and his gaze dropped to their feet, mouth twisting to the side as he tried to plot his course. He came up empty, lamenting the failings of adolescence and suddenly forced to realized that she was obviously older than he was and thus wise in a way he could never understand. A couple of years was a long time! What sort of great universal secrets had he unlocked since he was twelve? Momentous ones! Imagine what she could know better than him. She'd have the words for the argument he was trying to form, anyway.
He frowned, not much liking this unfair handicap, and his jaw set with a new determination. "Like, what if I told you you couldn't dye your hair funny colours because it was distracting to pedestrians?" he tried, and immediately regretted it. "I think your hair is great!" he added hastily. "But I'm sure somebody's crazy old grandma thinks you're a Satanist or something." He curled his shoulders in, wiggling his fingers menacingly, like the best demonstration of Satanists was an evil wizard from fantasy cartoons.