It had been raining for what seemed like weeks. Quite honestly, Leon was running short on bath towels. The first batch of washed bath towels he pegged out on the outside clothesline in the rain. Often it would be fine the day after rain, and having laundry rinsed in the rain added to their freshness once they had dried. But this batch of six towels simply did not seem to want to dry.
It wasn’t as if he was made of towels. He had eight altogether, three red and three grey and two white. After the initial wash he was left with two dry towels that quickly dampened when Leon took a shower.
There were a few other things Leon was trying to dry as well. For example, his wife’s woollen pullover had been damp for so long that he thought it really needed a quick rinse to freshen it up again.
His living and dining rooms were festooned with drying laundry. The backs of chair, the table, even the television, had towels draped over them.
Leon thought of going out and buying a new set of bath towels. But then what would he do with this lot of towels once they had dried? Would he simply throw them away? Why wouldn’t they hurry and dry? These six towels that he had used to mop up his wife’s blood after he’d shot her. The woollen pullover, once dried, he would burn.
Charles was sent by his boss on an important mission. He would get paid extra, but the negotiations were going to be tough. Imagine getting paid to pamper oneself in a luxurious hotel in Dubai! Spas! Food! Wine! Swimming pool! What a shame it was, thought Charles even before he left for Dubai, that the negotiations would never succeed!
Of course he would stay in the hotel and take advantage of every luxury. The negotiations could go to hell. He was in it for the enjoyment, provided he played his cards right. He had clawed his way up, not without effort, to be number two in the company. Life was a breeze. The boss was weak and ineffective. Charles would take over the company management soon enough.
And play his cards right in Dubai he did! Twice the boss had phoned and twice Charles assured him that things were “tough”. The third time the boss phoned, Charles was wallowing in a luxury soapy bath. The phone slipped through his hand into the soapy suds.
“We seemed to have been cut off,” said Charles later.
“No we didn’t,” said the boss, who had been suspicious of Charles for a time. “I was in the room next door.”
Although Julia’s bathroom had a shower, she preferred to take a bath. She loved to lie there in the warmth of her bath, covered in bubbles. Of course, she kept her bath immaculate. It was always perfectly scrubbed after each bath, otherwise it would become just too hard to clean altogether. She lived alone, so she didn’t have to worry about cleaning the bath after others had used it.
When she went on a month long cruise in a luxury liner, her cabin didn’t have a bath. But not to worry; she had a shower. She could lie in her bath to her hearts content when she went home.
Temperance (how she hated her name) bought three African violets. She was walking into the supermarket and there they were! In the florist’s in the foyer in the supermarket in the town. And they were on sale.
One was blue, one was pink, and one was white. She put them in her bathroom. There was a little shelf at the end of her bath. They looked perfect there. In fact, she almost wished visitors would ask to take a bath. Then they might see them! The toilet was separate from the bathroom. No visitor would see them at the end of the bath on their little shelf if they did a wee-wee while visiting. Still, Temperance (how she hated her name) enjoyed the African violets very much indeed, even if she was the only one to see them.
Then they stopped flowering. Just leaves. Temperance (how she hated her name) bought some African violet food. Just a brief splosh with lots of water once a week was enough. They should burst back into flower within days. Or so said the writing on the African violet food packet.
Next, she read that if you watered African violets with water in which one boiled eggs, then they couldn’t resist breaking into flower. They didn’t.
Use a contraceptive pill, said a friend. Just put a-past-use-by-date contraceptive pill in the soil and water. It will work wonders. It didn’t.
Temperance (how she hated her name) tried all these things, and still there were no flowers. No flowers! Oh no flowers!
And then, suddenly! suddenly! would you believe? suddenly! they shrivelled up and died.