|Daddy and Me.|
In fact, once Mom got me into the tub, it was a major chore to get me out.
I would swim and play like a little marine mammal, till the water cooled to the point that it was tepid.
And I was shivering.
I know. I know.
Makes no sense to me, either.
But I was four. Little that one does makes sense when you're four.
Moving on . . .
One day, Mom discovered a technique that had me gasping on the bathmat quicker than a wet, slippery little Louisiana catfish.
Okay, I don't know much about those but I'm assuming they come from Louisiana.
And that they're wet and slippery . . .
Mom, patience growing thin, pulled the tub plug.
While I was still in the tub.
The water started down the drain.
And suddenly, I knew that I was going to go down with it.
What were we saying about making sense?
Oops. There goes Diane!
I knew what my parents would say," Darn! Lost another one! Guess we'll have to get us another little girl!”
Okay, so even at four I had a lot of imagination.
After that, all Mom had to do was reach for the plug.
It was like she put a current of electricity through the water.
I would be standing, shivering on the mat.
Another narrow escape.