Early in the time my family converged at my niece's home to process the approaching death of my sister Martha, several people were around her in the curtained alcove her daughter Bonnie created for the hospice bed. She was still conversing with visitors at this stage, though she sometimes wandered. Bonnie and Kathryn (the sister I came with) was helping her with a garment, and I heard her say something that caused some mistaken assumptions about my sister complaining. It's not that she didn't complain, or have a lot to complain about, but they were mistaken and I had to correct them. A minute or two later, I called Kathryn and Bonnie over and explained.
The lady of the house comes home at midnight. She pulls the long cord, and a moment later, her butler appears. "Madame?"
She speaks in a low voice. "Charles. Please remove my wrap." "Yes, Madame."
"Charles, I'd like you to unzip my dress." "Yes, Madame."
Garment by garment, it continues. Then: "That will be all, Charles." "Very good, Madame."
"And, Charles?" "Yes, Madame?"
"Don't ever let me catch you wearing my clothes again."
See, they thought she was complaining, but she was actually quoting the punch line of a story she'd told me when she was about ten, and it was important that they know what she was saying. Punch lines were our life. Also, it was a good story, so.
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