Well alright, Daisy. But everyone can afford to be more polite. My father would be rolling in his grave if he knew. [He doesn't know what in damnation happened to everyone in the past hundred and thirty-odd years or so and while he enjoys being able to pluck a cold beer out of a fridge or make food in five minutes pressing some beep-beep-boop buttons on a microwave, he can't say he feels the same about peoples' manners.]

Hell I'd be rolling in my grave. [Whenever it's his turn to wind up there. Has she seen what men are wearing these days? Chinos that stop above the ankle with no socks, greeting each other with 'yo, what's up dude?' The outrage. What does that even mean?

Leaning against the counter, he watches her work the coffee machine with a raised eyebrow. His head pulls back a bit when it starts making funny noises.]

What are you doing, with that?