There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won’t cure, but I don’t know many of them. ~Sylvia Plath

So Taylor is crashed out on the floor with Spike TV blaring in the background.  (If I tried to change the channel he’d notice and claim to be awake but, yanno, his eyes are closed and he’s not looking at the television)  Loud t.v. drives me nuts.

I am waiting for my mother to drop off the Teen.  Not because I horrible missed the brat in the two days he’s been gone but because she’s bringing me some bath products.  And I want a bath.  Desperately.

I have dirt under my fingernails and a slight sunburn.  I’m sweaty smelly and sex smelly.  My back and legs ache like I haven’t gardened in a year.  I’d already be in the bath if Ma hadn’t called and told me she was bringing me some new product.  Well, new to me.  Heh.  It’s stuff she doesn’t want any more.  Pear Glacé from Victoria’s Secret. I loooove that stuff.  I love pear scented products in general.

I swear to gods the minute the Teen and the stuff gets dropped off I am running the hottest bath I can stand and I am taking my book and a gallon of water and a pot of tea in the bathroom and I am locking the door.  I may even bring my Angel.  She’s supposed to be waterproof…   (I sure hope so cuz she’s Oh Em Gee Amazing and if I ruin her I’ll cry)

I’m going to light candles and put on some of the nature music that aggravates Taylor as much as Spike TV aggravates me and I’m going to recline on my bath pillow and read my book and sip my tea and water and I”m not coming out for at least 90 minutes.

And if anyone even tries to come in and poop while I am luxuriating in pear scented bubbles and relaxing…

It won’t be pretty.