Man, bathtime is like confessional around here. Okay, it’s really nothing like confessional. But a lot of new information seems to come to light in the Ol’ Clawfoot. A wee bit of context: Bub has a bathtub basketball set with the “balls” being three brightly-colored blowfish that squirt water. And I guess that’s about all you need to know. Oh, and hard balls are NOT okay for playing golf in the house. Only soft balls, duh. And I should mention he was tugging at his grab bag as we open:
Me: What are you doing there, Bub?
Bub: I found a ball!
Me: What kind of ball?
Bub: It’s a blowfish!
Me: Oh, a blowfish, huh? Is it the yellow one? I haven’t seen that guy in like three or four baths now.
Bub: Oh, it’s soft.
Me: Yeah, but I don’t think that one squirts water, Bub.
Bub: Should probly play golf now.
Me: I didn't bring my clubs, Bub.
Bub: Oohhh, I found TWO balls!
Me: Yep. One more and you can juggle!
We were facing each other at one point. He seized the opportunity to grab MY unit and tug it like a gaucho dragging his burro across the sere, windless desert. Vamanos, verga!
Me: Um, excuse me?
Bub: Thank you, Daddy.
Me: No, that’s not a gift. That’s mine, Bub.
Bub: Excuse me.
Me: That doesn’t really apply here.
Bub: Oh, that’s Daddy’s!
Me: That’s right. Unhand it now, please.
Bub: (Letting go, but standing up to point at it emphatically) That’s BUB’S!
Me: Nope, that’s still Daddy’s. You have your own.
Bub: Ohhh, I found it. I found it, Daddy!
Me: Great, Bub. I’ll call off the search party.
Bub: [pull pull tug pull pull] What’s Bub doing? What’s Bub doing, Daddy?
Me: Okay, I think we’re done here. Mommy, towel, please!
Bub: This bathtime is ovaaaaaaaaahhhh.