The Sweet Luxury called a Shower

I know it's going to be a good day when I get a shower in the morning.

While showering, I kept hearing the fridge open and close. I've been brought some unusual things while in the shower - like juice and a cup [first it was just juice. I recommended the cup]. This wasn't new. It's more of a "What'll it be this time?"

Showers are sacred to me. I do my best thinking in them. If there was a waterproof computer, I'm certain I could have published several novels by now. Though these days, I'm always hoping I can stay in long enough to get wet, or that I've past that point where catastrophe doesn't strike in the middle of washing my face or while I have shampoo in my hair.

Aside from the fridge opening and closing, I kept hearing little things dropping, but no screaming. We're good.

Enter crying. Oh, there's the screaming.

"Cora, come into the bathroom, mama's in the shower." [Still crying. Becoming more frantic] Coco, come on, come to Mama." [There was already a water trail from the bathroom to the office when my shower was interrupted the first time. I heard some banging right after I got in. She was trying to plug the computer charger into her phone, and in frustration that she couldn't make it work, she started wrestling the charger until it became twisted around her ankle.]

She finally comes in holding a cracked egg. "It's broken, Mama."

It's more than cracked and less than all over the floor. I jumped out and saw 11 other eggs lying in the hallway, a rolls distance away from their overturned carton. Afore mentioned egg is in the bathroom sink, and I'm in the hallway surveying the damage. I find two with hairline cracks and everyone else is okay. Phew. If she was sad over one puncture wound on an egg, I can't imagine what more egg devastation would have done to her.

But alas, I got to take a shower before breakfast, and a cute little blonde I know got to eat two eggs for that very meal.


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