A gentle voice calles from the depths of the house, “Get me a drink.”
“Then get up and get it yourself!”
“But I can’t, it’s cold! My feet hurt! I’m tired!” sounding so full of whine you could say they’re drunk.
“But your slave died yesterday, so I guess you’ll need to do it yourself.”
“Dad!” said in that extended way that sounds like the records skipped.
“Oh it was terrible, he died from exhaustion, collapsed and tumbled down a flight of stairs. He died at my feet, I did all that I could but he was just to tired.” Sarcasm queezed right from the plant where it grows.
The kids will still whinge and demand but lets face it, it’s a fun game.