Wife: Why are the clothes still on the sofa? Don't you all have hands? Are you waiting for them to fold themselves?
Toastmaster: Do you remember that time? The year was 1995 and I was a bachelor. It was different during those times.
Daughter: I wouldn't know. I was told that I was born after my parents were married.
Toastmaster: The yesteryears! I still remember! We didn't have a sofa. But (meaningful pause)... there were three wooden chairs in the drawing room. With hand-stitched cushions. Two red (walks over to one side of the room) and one yellow. My mother would never wash them; beacuse if she had washed them, (sad smile) we didn't have another 3 to replace them.
Wife: That explains your showering habits too. Old habits, stink forever.
Daughter: Eeewwww...
Toastmaster: (poignantly) Speaking of stink, those cushions had a certain smell about them. the smell of spilled coffee, a few drops of sambar, mildew.
Wife: And your farts
Daughter: prrrrr...rrrrrr
Toastmaster: It acquired something from everyone who sat on them. A bit of personality that those cushions borrowed every time from anyone who rested on them. Inadvertently contributed in return for those moments of repose!
Daughter: (hands in the air) Every ass contributes!
Wife: Not in this house, apparently. Shut up and start folding your clothes. Otherwise go make your own dinner, like in the yesteryears.
Toastmaster: ".........."
Daughter: You gotta work on your conclusion. Was kinda abrupt. prr.
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