Every morning my partner takes a good, hot bubble bath because it "soothes my aching muscles," "clears my muddled mind," "loosens my sinuses," "comforts me," "prepares me for my work day," "helps to break up the gas bubbles in my body and bloodstream," etc., etc., etc. (and you should know that each bath brings a newly proclaimed benefit.)
Day after day it's the same routine and he has it down to a science: Run the bath with hot water until half full; check Facebook and Ancestry.com for at least fifteen minutes; fill the tub to full; strip down; step in and say "HOT! HOT! HOT!"; lower your heinie and naughty bits into the water and say, "HAH! HAH! HAH!"; submerge yourself up to your neck and say "AH! THAT'S GOOD!"; then call one of the Boston Terriers to "play" with you (or berate said Terrier because you're just not in the mood today).
His bathroom is right around the corner from the kitchen (where I am). By now he begins conversations with me, shouting loudly and periodically warning "Hang on, I'm goin' under," at which point, in mid-sentence, I put all thought on hold and await his resurfacing and permission, "OK....go ahead," as if the conversation was my idea in the first place.
This particular morning we were under a Severe Thunderstorm Watch and a Tornado Warning and the wind was gusting to about 50-60 mph. My dearly beloved wind chimes out on the balcony were dancing away in the weather (admittedly loudly) and I was busy in the kitchen mixing, rolling, cutting and baking Puppy Cookies (a greatly nutritious, very healthy and incredibly easy recipe if you want your dog to have better treats than your average Snausage). Well, his Majesty calls out, "Oh, my God! Please bring in the wind chimes! I'm trying to relax here! I tried to imagine that it was Tibetan monks, but it's not working!"
I put on shoes and go outside in the buffeting wind and lashing rain and pull the chimes from their perch, hanging them up on a hook in my bedroom. I shuck my shoes, dry my hands, face and hair, and emerge to find the King imitating monk-like chant in the tub. I resist the urge to strangle him. Then he shouts out, "Hey! I'm pretty good at this chanting thing, listen!" and continues to demonstrate for me. I join in, just for fun, before he points out that I'm not doing it correctly. "No it has to be all gravelly....like this," and he models the correct tone as I walk away and curse him for all eternity.
I loooove this. Boy, you sure captured the scene perfectly. I can almost hear his voice. What a scream!
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