Her dad, Mark, was currently in a battle with his own technology. He was trying to shove his oversized smartphone into the dashboard’s narrow wireless charging slot while simultaneously navigating a tight merge onto the highway.
He reached over, turned up the radio, and let the snap-pop of the watermelon gum become the beat to their afternoon.
He glanced over at his daughter. Her eyes were fixed on a viral dance video, her thumbs flying across the screen, all while her gum created a rhythmic soundtrack to his mounting frustration.
Snap. Maya didn’t look up from her own screen. "Maybe your phone is just middle-aged, Dad. It has ‘dad-spread.’"
"Can you… just… fit?" Mark grunted, shoving the phone again. It resisted, popping back out like a toasted bagel. "I don’t understand why they design these for phones from 2010."
"Do you have to chew it that loudly?" he asked, though there was no real bite to it.