Franz, 8; Moxie, 7 ME: You know, some people think I’m really funny.
ME: Seriously! I’m like seriously funny sometimes.
FRANZ Mom. Come on. You’re not funny. You can’t be funny. You’re, like, well…you’re a goth.
(He says this like he’s telling me I’m missing an arm and no one has wanted to mention it before because they don’t want to stop pretending to high-five me.)
ME: I’m not a goth.
FRANZ: Mom. You’re a goth. I mean, come on! You’re dressed entirely in black.
ME: It’s a black dress.
FRANZ: It’s summer. You’re dressed entirely in black. You’re hair is dark. You’re wearing dark glasses. You’re all dramatic and serious and stuff. You’re a total goth.
MOXIE: Next time, Mom, talk to me before we go out. You really should’ve worn a pink necklace or something.
ME: Huh. Maybe I am a goth.
(I turn to Kealoha)
ME: Am I a goth?
KEALOHA: Sometimes, yeah.
ME: Huh. I do like writing poetry.
FRANZ: See? Goth.
ME: Eat your fish.
From Urban Dictionary: