Disclaimer: I don't own Psych.
This plot bunny has been gnawing on my brain for a couple of weeks.
The sun was setting on the horizon when Shawn pushed his chair back from his father's dining table and stood up. "What is wrong with the two of you?" he exclaimed, gesturing wildly at Henry and Gus. The two stared at him in between bites of freshly caught fish. "You," he pointed at his friend, "and your Lamaze breathing and your aromatherapy and the fact that you took Home Ec. in high school. And you," here he indicated his father, "with your fake tans and your bubble baths and your soap operas. Why am I the manliest man here?" He flopped back into his chair, chest heaving from his verbal expenditure.
Gus raised an eyebrow. "Shawn, ever since you were a foot and ankle model, you've been getting pedicures on a regular basis. You wore eyeliner while you were on "Explosion Gigantesca de Romance," which happens to be one of those soap operas. You've dragged me to a number of chick flicks in the past. You style your hair. You have no room to talk."
Henry paused in consuming his meal long enough to say a few words. "Shut up and eat your food, Shawn."
Reviews would be very much appreciated.
