the dread pirate and i go way back. to 2003 at least. we are bonded by an affinity for colored sneaks and whiney male lead singers. i trust and highly esteem the dread pirate. so, spurred on by his spirited defense of them, today i took a bath. mind you, this was not a first. i have bathed before.
my fears of going down the drain were long ago allayed by mr. rogers, so to me the greatest possible bath-related disaster is the dropping of one's book into the suds. sheepishly, i have returned to mr. foote's hefty, hardbacked, bazillion-paged civil war triology (it's been tempestuous- i love him and leave him a lot), so a drop-induced tidal wave could have been deadly. i clutched the behemoth a mile above the bubbles, white-knuckled with worry.
hence it was all the more traumatic when out of absolutely nowhere, an unexpectedly stiff chicago breeze blew through the open window, pitching a leafy plant off the sill and- with a confetti of cobwebs and dirt and pebbles- into my bath.
calming? cleansing? not so much.