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| Daddy and Me. My parents should have produced fatter children. Then all of this could have been avoided . . . |
I loved baths.
Loved them.
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 fish, 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 shot me out of the tub quicker than a wet, slippery little bar of soap.
She pulled the plug.
While I was still in the tub.
Eeeeek!
What were we saying about making sense?
The water started down the drain.
Gurgle.
Gurgle.
Gurgle.
And suddenly, I knew that I was going to go down with it.
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.
Zip!
I would be standing, shivering on the bathmat.
Clean.
But whole.
