Allan walked in to the kitchen after just coming home from work. Pots and pans were lying everywhere, and hand prints out of spaghetti sauce were all over the windows. The ceiling was singed black from something burning on the stove for too long.

Dog droppings were scattered around the living room, and one was deeply ingrained in the carpet. He went upstairs and looked into his son’s room, which was covered in feathers, and the matress had been removed, and was sticking halfway out the window. Bubbles were creeping out in a towering mass from the master bathroom, and he could hear his son’s laughter within.

He went back down the stairs, which were smudged with peanut butter and jelly, and had dog food scattered along each step. He saw his wife sitting on the couch, reading a magazine. He threw his hands up.
“What the hell happened today?”
She put down the magazine, “You know when you asked me what it is that I do all day? Well, today I didn’t do it.”