So my parents were on the couch when my mother was eating a cookie. Upon finishing said cookie, she hands her empty plate to my father to put on the counter. My dear father, in turn holds the plate up in the air and every time I walk by the couch for the next few minutes he holds it ever so slightly higher.
Dad. I ain’t your maid. The counter is literally 8 inches from your hand.
Get off the couch and dispose of your own dishware.
