You're a chicken!

The playground that day was infested with the Bully family. They seemed to take joy in pushing each other, egging one another on and making fun of each other's fears. The proud papa of this group of five children spoke only when one of them wandered more than 100 meters away, and then only to say, "Get your sorry a** over here or I'll leave without you!"

Little B paid little heed to the group other than an attempted hello which was ignored by all but the eldest. He eyed little B with a narrowed stare. Little B evidently didn't know what to make of this stare and so moved on toward the slide. In order to do so, he had to cross a rope bridge. Big Bully followed little B and once little B was safely on the bridge, began to shake it. Little B smiled and moved forward.

"You're a chicken!" Shouted Big Bully. Probably he was disappointed by little B's lack of reaction.

The accusation got little B's attention however. "I am not!" He replied stoutly.

"Yes, you are." Big Bully grinned. He finally had a grasp on little B. "You're a chicken."

Little B shook his head, his brows furrowed. "No," he said. "I'm not. I'm a boy."

Some people. Really.

Big Bully's mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he recovered enough to say, "You're a chicken. With feathers."

Little B's head moved back as he considered this latest accusation. "No," he enunciated slowly in case dummy had trouble understanding. "I'm a boy." He touched his forearm. "With skin."