"I don't think—"
"Don't tell me we're out of propane!"
"I'm dying for it. Please?"
"It's not really—"
"Fine! I'll just light the grill myself."
"Um, Chuck? Where is the grill? Chuck?"
I don't know why there's so much effing laundry. Yes, there are five of us, but we aren't going anywhere. Part of me feels ...