Whippersnapper?

After an afternoon spent happily but unsuccessfully shooting at clay pigeons with our two teen sons, my wife got home just in time for us to go down to Denver for a Saturday night on the town. The children-moving vehicle we drive is too tall to fit into any of the downtown indoor parking garages, so we drove round and round looking for an outdoor parking lot with a vacancy. We found one next to Coors Field, where the Rockies always finish their baseball season well before the world series begins.

The parking pay thingy had openings the size of a quarter for me to put one five dollar bill or five one dollar bills in. I had the latter. I was concentrating with all my might on this seemingly impossible task, when my wife came up to observe. I noticed that there was a guy standing behind her, and I thought he was just waiting for me to develop some competency at the task of folding up dollar bills and fitting them in a hole the size of a quarter. Finally I squeezed the last one in, and we began to walk away. I noticed that my wife was looking back at the guy, who had now disappeared. I asked her why she was looking back over her shoulder. She calmly says that the guy had come up to her in the parking lot (while I was working on my first grade science project with the dollar bills), and told her he thought she was looking very sexy. I asked her what she said to him. She calmly stated that she told him, "Shut up, Whippersnapper!" I can only imagine what she will say when she actually starts hitting those clay pigeons!