"Isn't it though?" she asked, her tone slightly teasing, slightly goading, the better to hide real bitterness she felt. "If you dig hard enough, I'm pretty sure every crap thing that's happened to you or me can be traced back to those plaid wearing neanderthals." Meg rapped her knuckles hard and loud on the table, attracting the attention of the only waitress there at that hour. With two fingers, she called for more drinks.
"You been drunk yet?" she asked, casually avoiding his question. "Cause if not, I'm here to fix that. Only way to survive this life with your sense of humor intact."