House Rules
She turns toward the bathtub and bends over to test the water temperature, adjusting the taps with precise, unhurried movements. You become very aware of where your eyes are going and make a significant effort to redirect them, which is only partially successful.
"I want to be washed before I get in," she says, still adjusting the taps. "Not during, nor after. The point of a bath is to soak, not to marinate in whatever the day left on you. You'll wash me first, then I'll get in."
"Wash you," you repeat.
"That's what I said."
She says it the way you'd say take out the recycling or the dishwasher needs emptying. Like it's simply the next item on a list. And maybe for her it is.
She's already reaching for the shower attachment, already testing the water pressure, already operating under the complete assumption that this is happening regardless of whatever is currently going on in your head.
It is, in fact, happening regardless.