//My fa(mo)ther at house's helm. (captioned) •My fa(mo)ther at house's helm• My father is a star. No, no. He's a superstar. No, no. He's a fa(mo)ther. Famother, why? The reason is elaborated downwards. Let's see how he manages a house as a mother being a father. It's nearly the time when the sun is taking its place over our head. He rubs his eyes and folds the bedsheets slowly like the snail. He moves to the war ground and starts the fumes of stove to win a tea for today and put the breads in the toaster. He moves to another room to pick up the heap of the clothes and put them in the machine with proper ingredients. A few moments later he hangs the criminals on the rope to get them dry in the hairdryer of sun. He now moves to the mirrors and glasses to make them dirt-free and shiny.
