Scene: An American domicile.
The wife of the house walks into the bathroom, and notices something amiss. Her shoulders slump; she dramatically groans, sighs, shakes her head, and rolls her eyes.
“Rolf! You did it again!”
“What?!?” the husband yells back from the sofa of the living room, a little perturbed about being distracted from his doomscrolling.
“You left the toilet seat up! I can’t believe you can’t remember to put it down!”
Rolf shrugs, shakes his own head in unconscious imitation of his wife, yells “Sorry!” and goes back to what he was doing.
The woman looks up to heaven (actually, the ceiling); she moans, groans, and sighs while contemplating the incredibly exasperating task of putting the toilet seat down herself. She laments the extra time it will rob from her already full day. Finally, after steaming about her nigh-unendurable dilemma for several moments, she decides to just “get it over with,” and resolves to accomplish the deed. The afflicted wife grunts with the great effort required, but then stands up, with her back straight as a ramrod; she places her arms on her hips and sighs again, partly out of pride and contentment with a job well done, but still mostly out of vexation and chagrin over her husband’s lack of consideration.
“Well, that’s done,” she says to herself, marveling at her feat of strength, stamina, and otherworldly tolerance of her husband’s infuriating foibles.
“It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it!” she barks out at her husband (actually, at the door that separates her from him).
Rolf hears her clamorous declaration, but it seems to him a non sequitur (he had already forgotten the previous conversation).