Harry: Hey, Delores. You want to get Tim another beer, please?
Delores: I just got off work. I'm starving to death. And my feet are swelled up like a couple of bloated toads.
Harry: Is that a "yes" or a "no?"
Tim: Hey, I'll get it.
Harry: Absolutely not. You're a guest in this house. You shouldn't have to get your own beer.
[Harry stands up, fluffs his pillow and then sits back down]
Tim: But I'm so comfortable as a gosh-darn guest here, I prefer to get my own beer.
Harry: Get me one, too?