The Great Unwashed

I love it when my children smell like soap.

In the shower, where I do all of my best thinking, it dawned on me that once only the very rich smelt of soap. Everyone else smelt of grimy life – skin flakes and sex and sour milk.

I really must get a set of washable crayons to make notes in the shower. I’m such a slattern, perhaps it would motivate me to clean the tiles more often if they were graffitied with half-baked plots.

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2 thoughts on “The Great Unwashed

  1. Bridge

    Sounds like a dangerous notion to me: how could you possibly even think of cleaning the tiles when they are so bejeweled? Such a great excuse I might get the crayons out myself…

    Reply

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