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"You have a little something on your shirt,” he said, gesturing awkwardly toward my white t-shirt.
“Oh please! I may be gullible, but I’m not that bad.” He bit the corner of his lip, “No. Really. You have something on your shirt.”
“I am not going to fall for that.”
“Here,” he said gallantly, “I’ll turn around so you can look. I promise, you have something on your shirt.” I’m not sure how long exactly this went on, but he finally shrugged. “You win,” he said, and I felt quite proud of myself.

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