Open by bringing up something from twenty years ago as if it were current. Push off from this if it helps: a wasp in a car.

You didn't stare at the wasp because you were brave, you froze because you're a coward. I remember you screaming, rolling down the window, waving your arms like a windmill in a hurricane. I was the one swatting it out of the backseat while you hyperventilated. And now your shoulder is a tragedy? Please. You've been nursing that arm since you lifted that stack of bricks at the old job. Don't drag the wasp into your pity party. That thing wasn't looking for an exit; it was just confused, like you when you tried to fix the toaster. You always make everything about your feelings. It's exhausting. My arm aches too, just from sitting in this chair all day, but I don't go on about it. You're a drama queen.

I didn't bail, you dropped half the load on your own feet! You were the one who yelled "wait" then let go. And my knee? I didn't scream. I just said, "Ouch," and swatted it. You were making a scene, dragging the car door open, threatening to run it into the creek. It was just a bug, Frank. A tiny, stupid thing. You remember it all wrong because you need to be the victim. You always do. That brick job is different; you're the one who insisted on carrying the heaviest ones. Now you want to act like the wasp thing proves my lack of empathy? It proves you panic. My shoulder hurts from sitting here, sure, but it's not a rusty nail. It's just... stiff. Anyway, remember when we tried to microwave that tin can? You laughed for an hour. You're full of hot air.

You didn't wait for an explosion, you screamed "it's going to blow!" before the microwave even started humming. You're rewriting history again. I didn't let you carry the bricks to get credit, I let you carry them because you're the only one strong enough to lift them without breaking your spine, which you're doing right now anyway. It's not a snapped bone, it's a pulled muscle from playing the hero. Remember that time we tried to jump the creek on the old moped? You broke the chain, got tangled, and I had to drag you out of the mud while you cried about your knee. You never learn. You just keep digging the hole deeper. My arm is fine, Frank. It's just stiff. Stop trying to make it a war zone.

You weren't winded, you were wheezing like a broken bellows while I dragged you. And the bolt? I checked it! You loosened it on the way up the hill. Don't act like a martyr; you wanted to crash to feel something. That microwave didn't just spark, it hissed like a snake. You were right there, grinning while the door melted. I didn't care if it hit me in the face, I was worried you'd light the whole house on fire with your ego. Now you're a tragedy? Please. You're just bored and trying to make me feel guilty for my "stiff" arm. It's fine. It's just a little ache. Stop trying to turn my shoulder into a monument to your own misery. You're impossible.

I didn't loosen the bolt, you stripped the thread! You're so desperate to be the victim you'd rewrite the whole alphabet. The microwave didn't explode, it just made a weird noise and you panicked. You didn't carry the bricks; you dropped them and walked away while I cleaned up the mess. My arm is fine, it's just a dull throb, nothing like your dramatic "consequences." You're just mad because you're stuck here with me, complaining about a shoulder that's been fine since Tuesday. Stop trying to make me feel guilty for breathing. You're the one who keeps the door open for every wasp, every falling brick, every stupid risk. I'm not mad, I'm just tired of your stories.

The wrench was fine, you were the one with the shaking hands! You're not holding your head, you're holding a grudge. That glass was everywhere, Frank, not just on the floor. You think because you're whining louder it hurts more? My throb is steady, unlike your dramatic flair. You say I'm useless? I'm the only one who hasn't driven this car off a bridge yet. Remember the creek? You wouldn't stop crying, but I had to pull you out. You're not suffering, you're just stuck in that chair, spinning your wheels. I'm not lazy, I'm just done listening to your version of events. My shoulder is fine, just a little sore. Stop making it a big deal.

I didn't hold the handlebars because I was scared, I held them because you were about to let go and face-plant! You weren't hyperventilating from stupidity, you were hyperventilating because you knew you were wrong. And I didn't sweep up the glass because I could stand it, I did it because you were too busy playing the hero to notice it was cutting your feet. "Standing right now"? You're leaning on that doorframe, Sam, and you've been there for twenty minutes. Your shoulder isn't screaming, it's just tired from carrying your ego. You want me to fix it? Fine, fix it yourself. I'm not your nurse. Remember the time you tried to fix the roof and fell? You blamed the ladder. You always blame everything but yourself.

The rung wasn't cracked, you snapped it by jumping on it like a circus act! And I didn't hand you cheap wood, you refused the good lumber because it was too heavy. You're impossible. My arm hurts, Frank, it actually hurts, but I'm not going to make it the center of your universe like you do with yours. You keep saying I'm lying about the whole situation, but you're the one rewriting the script every five minutes. Remember the roof? You were the one who laughed when the first nail popped out. I wasn't cheap; I was practical. You just want to believe you're a victim so you don't have to admit you're just bad at everything you touch. Stop leaning on the doorframe and sit down before you fall.

I didn't cackle, I was laughing at how stupid it was to climb a ladder in the rain! You slipped because you were looking at your phone, not the roof. And I'm not pretending to be perfect, I'm just trying to keep us from killing each other with your constant drama. My arm is fine, it's just a knot. Stop trying to make me the villain in your tragedy. You're not a disaster, you're just stubborn. Remember the time you tried to fix the leak with duct tape and flooded the basement? You blamed the pipes. I didn't laugh then, I just watched you wade through the water. You need to stop fighting me about every little thing. Just sit down. The doorframe isn't going anywhere.

The tiles were dry, Frank! You were staring at a crack that wasn't even there. And I didn't stand with my hands in my pockets, I was holding the bucket while you ran around screaming about the pipes. You didn't flood the basement; you dropped the bucket and walked away from the leak. My arm isn't a knot, it's a tight muscle, but I'm not going to let you win by pretending your pain is some grand tragedy. You're standing because you're afraid to sit and admit you're hurt. Remember the day we tried to move the fridge? You claimed it was too heavy, but you were just scared of the strain. You're not a martyr, you're just stubborn. Sit down before you fall.

You didn't plug the leak, you were splashing water all over the floor with a rag while I held the bucket! And I didn't drop the fridge on your foot, you twisted your ankle trying to move it yourself while I tried to grab the corner. You're not stubborn, you're reckless. That "ripped out" shoulder is just you pushing too hard again. I'm not judging you, I'm telling you to stop before you break something you can't fix. You're standing there, shaking, acting like a statue while your arm screams. Just sit down, Frank. The floor isn't going to hurt you. Remember the time we tried to carry that couch? You tripped over your own feet and blamed the rug. You always blame the world for your mistakes. Just sit.

You didn't soak anything up, you were just flailing that rag around while the water soaked into the carpet! And the fridge wasn't too heavy for me, it was too heavy for you. You're the one who let go. My shoulder is fine, it's just a dull ache, but you need it to be a tragedy so you don't have to admit you're wrong about the couch, the pipes, the ladder, everything. I'm not the hero, I'm the one cleaning up your messes. Stop pretending you're falling apart; you're just mad you can't control the story. Sit down, Frank. The rug isn't going to hurt you. You're just too stubborn to listen.

Scrubbing? You were swatting at water like it was a mosquito! And I didn't drop my end of the fridge first, you slid out from under it because you couldn't grip the handle. That rug wasn't fine; you scratched the floorboards trying to muscle the couch in. You want me to leave you alone? Fine. Stay standing there until your shoulder gives out completely. Then don't come crying when you can't get up. My ache is real, but yours is just an excuse to keep fighting. You're not helping anyone, Frank. You're just making a scene. Go ahead, stand there. I'm not waiting for you to collapse.

Leaning on the wall? I'm sitting, you idiot! You're the one pacing like a caged animal. You slid out first because you panicked, not because you're some stoic martyr. And I'm not playing a game, I'm just tired of your inability to admit when you're wrong about everything from the fridge to the wasp. You want me to haul you off the floor? Fine, do it yourself. My arm is fine, just stiff, unlike your dramatic "fact." You're not helping anyone by acting like a victim. Go ahead, stand there until you fall. I'll be right here, watching. Remember the time you tried to fix the sink and flooded the kitchen? You blamed the pipes again. You never learn.

I didn't crank the valve too hard, you were the one who yanked the pipe loose before I even touched the handle! And I'm not scared to move, I'm just tired of your nonsense. You're standing because you're stubborn, not because sitting hurts. The washers were fine; you just forgot how plumbing works. You want to watch me pick up pieces? Fine. But don't act like you're the only one who gets hurt. Remember the sink? You cried for an hour while I fixed the leak. You're not a victim, you're just a mess. Sit down, Frank. Before you really do fall.

It wasn't loose, you loosened it trying to show off! And I didn't cry, I was groaning in pain while you stood there making jokes. I called the plumber because you were about to drown us both, not because I panicked. You're not standing your ground, you're shoving your shoulder against a doorframe until it snaps. My arm is stiff, not dead, unlike your logic. You want me to lecture? Fine. The sink was fine, you just hate admitting you're wrong. Remember the time you tried to paint the hallway and got green paint in your hair? You blamed the brush. You're a mess, Frank. Sit down before I actually have to call an ambulance for something stupid.

I didn't hand you the wrong can, you grabbed the base coat instead of the top! You're not holding the line, you're leaning against a wall waiting for gravity to win. And I never fixed a leak with duct tape; you did that while I was holding a bucket. You're not keeping us from drowning, you're the one who opened the floodgates with your stubbornness. My arm is fine, it's just tight. Stop pretending you're a hero in a story that doesn't exist. You're not right, Frank. You're just loud. Sit down before you fall and make me clean up the blood this time. Remember the bridge? You were the one who almost drove off. Don't make me remind you again.

I wasn't screaming, I was yelling instructions! You were the one swerving into the ditch because you thought the wasp was a missile. And the paint? You held the brush upside down, Sam. Don't try to rewrite the bridge incident now. You weren't keeping the car straight; you were fighting the steering wheel like it owed you money. My arm isn't throbbing, it's just sore, but your shoulder is a disaster waiting to happen. You're not honest, you're delusional. Remember when we tried to carry the sofa up the stairs and you dropped it on the landing? You blamed the stairs. Stop leaning on the doorframe before you actually collapse. I'm done arguing with a ghost.