….“It could be a million different things, why does it need to be an exploding brain tumour?”
“It doesn’t need to be anything, I’m just saying it’s the number one thing Stroodle is saying it is!”
“Wait, what the fuck is Stroodle?”
“It’s the web search thingy, you know, Stroodle.”
“There is no web search thingy called Stroodle you fucking knob! I think you mean Google, right?”
“I’m not a retard Carson, if I meant Google, I would’ve said Google, but I didn’t. I said Stroodle!” she spits as she pulls her phone from her pocket and proudly shoves it in his face. “BECAUSE I MEANT STROODLE!”
“Okay, okay! I’d just never heard of it before, but I guess it’s a real thing.” he says with arms held high.
“Get over yourself, it’s how you roll! Too self-absorbed to pay attention to the outside world, and brazen enough to be arguing over the name of a search engine instead of discussing the possibility of someone you profess to love dying of a brain tumour!”
“I said I was sorry.”
“You so did NOT! You avoided saying anything of the sort, and instead you started feeding me a BULLSHIT line based around miscommunication.”
He rolls his eyes and lets a long-winded sigh escape his lips. “I’m sorry,” he says softly.