Allow me to set the scene:
I'm leaving the beach, so I'm in a bikini top and some little shorts, and this nasty old(er) man (he has bleach blond hair for some reason, and it's thin; i could bounce a quarter off his stomach, because his beer gut is so solid; he has a chain on that is too thick, and it's ridiculous because he's not gangsta; and he's wearing some Volcom boardshorts, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know what Volcom is).
Anyway, he looks me up and down as I walk by and says, "Yeah-yeah, yeah-yeah." Huh? NO-NO. NO-NO.
It was actually pretty comical. Aside from the fact that I suddenly felt the urge to bathe in bleach and hydrogen peroxide, I couldn't help but shake my head and giggle at this poor old man. I wonder if that yeah-yeah mess has ever worked for him? I imagine he's been trying it for the last 50 years, figuring that one day some young filly would bite.
Move along, Gramps. I hear they're having 2-4-1 Metamucil martinis at the Bingo hall.