The setting:

A woman and her husband sit at the breakfast table in a messy dining room. Both look bleary-eyed and unkempt. Nearby, their two-year-old daughter recites an insect book from memory.

The woman gazes into a utility room, which can be seen from the dining room. From her POV we see an ironing table covered with wrinkled men’s shirts. There are 30. Maybe more.

Woman (to husband, with zeal): You know what I’m going to do today?

Husband: What?

Woman: I am going to iron every single one of those shirts. Every one.

There is a pause. The man regards her doubtfully.

Husband: What are you going to do with our daughter while you do that, put her on a morphine drip?

The woman looks from the man, to the 2-year-old, to the ironing table.  She sighs.

Woman: Maybe I can do one.

The man chuckles. We fade to black.