Baby Bear goes downstairs, sits down in his small chair at the table, and looks into his little bowl. It is empty. "Who's been eating my porridge?" he squeaked.
Papa Bear arrives at the big table and sits in his big chair. He looks into his big bowl, and it is also empty. "Who's been eating my porridge?" he demanded.
Mama Bear had gotten up first. "It was Mama Bear who woke everyone in the house," Mama Bear roared. "It was Mama Bear who made the coffee. It was Mama Bear who unloaded the dishwasher from last night, and put everything away. It was Mama Bear who went out in the cold early morning air to fetch the newspaper. It was Mama Bear who set the damn table. It was Mama Bear who put the friggin' cat out, cleaned the litter box, and filled the cat's water and food dish, and now that you've decided to drag your sorry bear-asses downstairs and grace Mama Bear's kitchen with your grumpy presence, listen up and listen good because I'm only going to say this once:
"I HAVEN'T MADE THE DAMN PORRIDGE YET!"