Once upon a time, there was a boy named Sam who had a laptop. It was the fastest, bestest laptop in the world, and Sam loved it very much. (Geeze, Sam, laying it on a little thick there.) In fact, he loved it more than anything. (Oh, come on--I already said I was sorry.)
Well, sorry's not going to fix Sam's laptop, is it? No--the only thing that's going to fix it is reformatting and starting fresh because Sam's idiot brother managed to somehow fill the whole thing with pop-up ads. (It's not like they're porn, dude--and I don't know why you're so sure it was my fault. You're the one going to all those shady sites to get boot-legged copies of ... I dunno. Textbooks about King Tut's bedtime stories or whatever.)
...Very solidly the 'whatever'. And no, the pop-ups aren't porn, but given the noises you make over food sometimes, I'm not sure there's much difference as far as you're concerned--and that's why I'm sure it's your fault, because there's nowhere I'd go that would result in my laptop's screen being completely filled with pictures of pie and hamburgers and perfectly buttered ears of corn!
(Well, fine. If you feel that way about it, guess the car and I'll go have ourselves a nice picnic without you.) Wait, what? Since when do you go on picnics? (Eh, never, I guess. Doesn't seem worth it now--was a dumb idea anyway. Sorry. Didn't mean to mess everything up for you, not today.)
Oh. Well. Doesn't really make up for completely screwing up my laptop, but I guess I appreciate the gesture. (Your enthusiasm is overwhelming. Truce?)
Yeah, truce, I guess. Just--we'll get you your own laptop, okay? So you can keep your porn--of whatever variety--off mine. (Hot diggity.) That'll be a birthday gift in and of itself. Now--you said something about a picnic?