It has been brought to my attention that you took a long, hot shower this morning, right after your father did the same. (Although he would point out that he does not scald himself like the womenfolk in the household.) While this is good and pleasing - the rinsing away of an afternoon of bug-catching, soccer practice and football - leaving your mother with tepid, then cold water, is not.
(Which reminds me, I need to wash your sheets. You were a grubby girl.)
Please understand that hot showers and an IV drip of caffeine is what gets me through trying times. I have managed living with five suite mates, roommates and even their occasional 'friend' and still finagled a decent shower. I credit scorching water for pulling me out of the fugue of early motherhood; it makes all things right again. It restoreth my soul.
Imagine my surprise, and then despair, when I shivered in the shower. Oh the humanity. And this was before I stepped on the scale or registered your dear brother's temperature. The day is on a downward spiral. Don't bogart the hot water, my sprout. The consequences could be dire; my mood, foul.
I feel better, now that we've cleared up this misunderstanding. You just didn't know. You are a girl after my own heart, lover of hellwater. I get it.
Thank you for your prompt consideration to this matter.
CEO 'cause I said so
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