A man comes home from work one day to find his wife's car sitting in the driveway, doors open, hood up. In the living room, he finds a half-naked toddler eating Cheerios and cat food, watching Barney. In the kitchen the refrigerator door is open, milk and orange juice spill together on the floor, the dog, wearing a bonnet, is tied to a table leg, and a preschooler is finger-painting on the wall.
Up the stairs, following the trail of Goldfish crackers, he finds an infant sleeping in a bed made of towels on the floor. Dirty diapers spill from the trash can and the delicate aroma is far from delicate. Panicking, he races into his bedroom to find his wife in bed watching television, eating chocolates.
"What's going on," he says, concern in his voice. "Are you OK?"
"Yes," she smiles.
"What happened here today?" he says, hysteria in his voice.
"Well," she says, "you know how yesterday you came home and said, 'What do you do here all day?'"
"Yes," he says, caution in his voice.
"Well," she says. "Today I didn't do it."