“You know that’s not going to help,” Roger taunted.
“Not your beeswax,” Lynn snapped. She continued to check her numbers, working her protractor and compass at lightning speed.
“No one says beeswax anymore,” said Roger.
Lynn reared up on her heels and fixed Roger with a glare.
“Do I look like someone who gives a shit?”
He held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa! Hold your horses, lady!”
“Then stop bothering me. You’re being a twit.”
He backed off, but kept watching Lynn take her measures.