Well, it was once again bath night, and I don’t have to tell you that our bathroom now resembles the collection tank of one of those boats in the New York harbor that skims the water for trash and debris: there’s a thin sheen of oil floating atop foamy brown water; soaking wet clothes; non-matched shoes; 12 tooth brushes; a bar of Irish Spring soap that was purchased at a Rite Aid in 1988; a novelty t-shirt that says, “Takin’ a bite outa the Big Apple”; a half-eroded cover to a special edition copy of the Hall and Oates album “Private Eyes”; an empty tube of Soviet era tank axle grease; and a rat teaching his son how to surf using an old Dr. Scholls shoe insert.
Easiest. Bath Night. Ever.
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