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I don't get a lot of phone calls. This isn't a complaint, or a bad thing - I'm not home all that often, and my friends usually know to get in touch with me online. So on the days when I am home, I'm used to my phone not ringing, and it being safe to wander off for an indefinite period of time.
Since today is my day off, I had decided to spoil myself rotten, including a long-as-I-want, hot-as-I-want shower. I happen to feel that hot showers are one of the most marvelous experiences in the world, and when I become a goddess I will make them a sacrament. And I had just spent about half an hour reveling in the wonders of shoulder-unknotting, skin-scalding girlie-scented steam (my bathroom is of the sort that drives men insane, with half a dozen shower-poofie scrubbiethings, several unidentifiable hair products, and at least three different scented shower gels from Bath and Body Works) and was just about ready to face the cool air and fluffy towels.... and the damn phone rang.
I thought about not answering it, but my phone rings rarely enough that I always worry about emergencies when I hear it. So I squinched myself up against the cold and sprinted out and across my apartment, grabbing it just as my answering machine picked up, and wound up standing in my bedroom, dripping wet and desperately trying to wrap a towel around myself one-handed to avoid giving the neighbors an eyeful, while my coworker rambled on about the colors and genders of gerbils he wants me to help find a home for. My cats found this endlessly entertaining, and occupied themselves by trying to lick the puddle off the floor and clean my toes.
I eventually managed to wrap up the conversation, and hung up. Two steps back to the bathroom, and the phone rang again. The epilepsy foundation, asking me to donate clothing. Why epileptics need my old clothes is a bit beyond me, but it's better than throwing them away, and at that point I would have promised my firstborn child to get off the phone and back into someplace warm.
Sadly, I learned that it's not nearly as nice climbing back into a hot shower. Oh, well.
Since today is my day off, I had decided to spoil myself rotten, including a long-as-I-want, hot-as-I-want shower. I happen to feel that hot showers are one of the most marvelous experiences in the world, and when I become a goddess I will make them a sacrament. And I had just spent about half an hour reveling in the wonders of shoulder-unknotting, skin-scalding girlie-scented steam (my bathroom is of the sort that drives men insane, with half a dozen shower-poofie scrubbiethings, several unidentifiable hair products, and at least three different scented shower gels from Bath and Body Works) and was just about ready to face the cool air and fluffy towels.... and the damn phone rang.
I thought about not answering it, but my phone rings rarely enough that I always worry about emergencies when I hear it. So I squinched myself up against the cold and sprinted out and across my apartment, grabbing it just as my answering machine picked up, and wound up standing in my bedroom, dripping wet and desperately trying to wrap a towel around myself one-handed to avoid giving the neighbors an eyeful, while my coworker rambled on about the colors and genders of gerbils he wants me to help find a home for. My cats found this endlessly entertaining, and occupied themselves by trying to lick the puddle off the floor and clean my toes.
I eventually managed to wrap up the conversation, and hung up. Two steps back to the bathroom, and the phone rang again. The epilepsy foundation, asking me to donate clothing. Why epileptics need my old clothes is a bit beyond me, but it's better than throwing them away, and at that point I would have promised my firstborn child to get off the phone and back into someplace warm.
Sadly, I learned that it's not nearly as nice climbing back into a hot shower. Oh, well.
