Every day and always I wonder just where this girl gets it… like a bottomless pit of love overflowing and surging, drowning me in her depths deeper and deeper.
"Alright, that's enough talk of foolish young love," She declared, unsticking from me and moving her arms again. "I'm still only halfway done washing you."
"Really?" I glanced around at her. "I feel pretty clean already."
"That's just your imagination talking. Now, don't move," She ordered, snapping my head back forward. "Let me keep on touchi - I mean - scrubbing you until I give you the all clear, alright?"
Being the woman of the house, and more importantly, the woman of the shower - I literally have no room to wriggle out of her declarations. If I wanted to leave this bathtime unpruned and still looking the best in my twenties, best way to go about it was to just let her do as she wishes.
I mean not like she hasn't already been doing that ever since I met her…