We walked into our new house and I asked my dad what floor we would be staying at. “The sixth” he replied. “On which [floor] are we getting married?” I further inquired. “Not here” was the response. I reasoned that I must be living on the fifth floor with the knowledge that my bedroom would be a floor below my parents’. “How many floors are there?” I asked again - and then additionally asked in the kitchen below ground floor counted as the first floor or the basement.