The Marvelous Misadventures of Ingrid Winter

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The marimba ringtone was not to be ignored. I tried mental calisthenics for a couple of minutes to see if I could block out the noise with brainpower, but I fairly quickly conceded. I opened my eyes and tried to figure out what day it was. It felt like Wednesday, a little too far into the week and still too far to go until the weekend.

I rolled onto my side.

“Are you going to shower first?”

“No,” I said.

“Why not?”

“I’m going for a run.”

“You are?”

Pause.

“No.”

I hung my nightgown on the already overcrowded hook on the back of the door, climbed into the tub, and just managed to back away from the spray of cold water. The original floor plans had included a shower enclosure across from the tub, but we had nixed that.

“We want to put the shower in the tub,” I had explained to the plumber at the planning meeting, “to save space.”

“Are you sure?” he’d asked me.

“Yup.”

“Well, you should at least put in the underlay for the shower stall,” the plumber had objected, “in case you ever sell the place and the future buyers want a shower. It’s smart to think down the road a little bit.”

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