"Dude—"
"Jared, I've said it before and I'll say it again," Carol-san sighs, taking a swig of her soda, "don't call me 'dude'. I'm not a dude. I don't have a—"
"Okay, okay. Quit griping at me." Jared huffs. "Anyway, Carol-san, I was going to say: where the heck is Sweetheart? Hello! The party's been on for hours. Shit, there's no way she can't hear it." They are perched on two bar stools next to the kitchen counter, beside the blasting radio.
"No kidding," scoffs Carol-san. "It's your stupid mix tape. You're making me want to strangle frigging Eric Clapton."
"Hey, hey, hey. Don't even diss the classics." He taps the rhythm of the song on the bar. Carol-san rolls her violet eyes.
"I don't know where she is, Jar. Maybe we should check on her? She seemed distracted at dinner."
Jared shrugs. "In a little. I wanna dance."
"Well don't think I'm gonna do it with you."
"Yeah you are."
"Are you high?"
"C'mon! You were young once," he pokes her playfully.
"Whaddaya mean, 'were'?" She scowls. "I'm twenty five, you insolent teenager!"
"Hey, don't break a hip, grand—"
"That's it! I'm gonna show you how we did it in the nineties!" She grabs his wrist, dragging him out into the center of the kitchen. Jared gasps in pain and sloshes some of his Coke on his jacket sleeves.
"Ow! I was just kidding!"
"Too late! You asked for it!"
"Agh! Somebody save me from her nineties moves!"
"Hey! Don't diss the classics," Carol-san smirks.