Try not to picture this, but this morning I was in the shower when I heard a knock on the bathroom door. Alex walks in with the telephone and says, “It’s your mom.” I slide the shower door open a few inches to show him that, even though he has apparently not felt the steam or heard the water running, I actually AM IN THE SHOWER.
He blankly held the phone out to me and said, “Take the phone.”
I was so flabbergasted that I took the phone. And then I was so flummoxed that I turned off the shower and then couldn’t remember if I’d rinsed all the conditioner out of my hair.
Tuns out I hadn’t. I had to put my head upside down in the kitchen sink when I discovered the big slick of goo still in my hair fifteen minutes later.
I sort of understand it when my kids do it because they’re, you know, small children, but my husband? I think I’m going to have to arrange to lead some sort of etiquette seminar for the four (big and little) men in my home so I don’t lose EVERY semblence of civilization.