"Nothing," he replied with a slightly sharpened tongue. He thought to himself that he was being crazy, that he must be suffering from some sort of Stockholm syndrome or something and that he needed either a few shots of whiskey or a few shots to the head. Or both, he figured both might work best. "Besides, why does it concern you? ‘m just a meat bag, remember?"
He really was up in arms about something, but Meg just couldn't place her finger on it. But there was something about the way he kept bringing up the word 'meatbag' that made her think twice about it. Was it, perhaps, that he truly thought he was more than a meatbag to Meg? And was it possible that she considered him to be? No, of course not. Naturally, the consideration must have been a product of boredeom, or insanity. Perhaps insanity. Definitely insanity. "Well, of course. That is what you are, plain and simple." She returned with an unsympathetic roll of her eyes. "No need to get your panties in a bunch about it."
