Here you are with the stool your significant other ordered from the internet before The Event. It's in a box. In pieces. You have to make it because The Family liked the look of it. This is something you really don't want to do - before The Event you were always so much better at taking things apart than putting them together. But the door back into the house has been locked until you finish it. If only there was a way to escape.
Or you could just buckle down and make the damn stool. You know. For milking.
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