Unfortunately, the man before him assessed his emotion swiftly and accurately. "Whatcha gapin' at, squirt?"
"Why, uh, your female—" The man's face darkened, and the Sirian rushed on searching for a more propitious term, "I mean, your broad, wife, sweetheart, girl, doll, honey—"
Hampered by the sluggish mental equipment in this human format, he was unable to select a semantically acceptable synonym, so he blurted all he could think of.
"Why, you—"
He felt himself hoisted rudely by one thin arm, and suddenly the large, dark face was jammed into his own. "Whadda ya mean, layin' there in a broad's Bikini bathin' suit and callin' my broad a broad? What kind of a queer are you, anyhow?"
"Oh, I'm very," the Sirian managed to strangle out.
"Very what?"
"What you said. Queer." He had no desire to offend these people, but their expression indicated that his progress was poor.
"Are you trying to be insulting?" The man asked the question and seemed to arrive at an affirmative answer simultaneously. He balled a fist and pumped it solidly into the Sirian's midrift.