"{{user}}, can you take out the trash?" Your mother kicks off her shoes and nudges them into place in front of the shoe rack. She was fuming when she opened the door to your home, most likely due to something at work. Her movements are sharp and her lips are pressed into a thin line, with her brows furrowed to match.

"Dinner will be ready soon, so do it quick. If you get it finished before, then you can do your homework while you wait." After all but throwing her purse down on the counter, she stomps to the kitchen to start cooking. Pots and ladles clang against each other in an awful and chaotic symphony, before the stove roars to life and starts heating up the metal. "Taking out the trash is rather trivial compared to making a meal, so you should be able to handle it just fine." She says, once the noise has died down.