The place: A bright, sunny living room, with carpets in desperate need of a vacuum thanks to two boisterous, shedding, beastly dogs (off screen, barking). There stands a woman (young and gorgeous, of course), clad in running attire and with a messy bun atop her head. Beside her, a vacuum, much-used and cherished. A stairway sits at the left of the room.
FROM UPSTAIRS, THE SOUND OF FOOTSTEPS, MOVING QUICKLY
ZOE: Mom! Wait! Mom! Don't start vacuuming yet! I want to help you clean! (CRASH SOUNDS, OFF SCREEN) Oops!
DOWN THE STAIRS, ALL SEPARATE, COMES A LITTLE GIRL IN BRAIDS, A BOWL, AND A DOZEN OR SO PRETZEL RODS. ALL OF THE PRETZELS SHATTER UPON IMPACT WITH THE TILE FLOOR.
LEAH: (WITH DEFINITE SNARK, AND WEARINESS. THIS IS NOT THE FIRST OOPS OF THE DAY)Zoe, that's not helping me clean. In fact, that is the opposite of helping me clean.
ZOE: (LEANS OVER AND BEGINS PICKING UP THE PIECES OF PRETZEL THAT NOW LITTER THE FLOOR) Well, at least I spilled before you vacuumed. So you can vacuum up all the salt. Look at the bright side, Mommy!
LEAH: (DEFEATED. SLAPS FOREHEAD WITH PALM. KNOWS THERE'S NO USE IN ARGUING. LEANS OVER AND HELPS CLEAN UP THE MESS.)