Hello,
My morning starts between 5:30 and 6:30 a.m., depending on when my wife or dog interrupts my slumber. Dragging my old bones out of bed, I lumber to the kitchen for my first cup of tea. I gave up coffee twenty-five years ago, but that is a story for another time. Breakfast waits until I run through my messages, including checking for sales for the past twenty-four hours. The YouTube channel plays a Reddit story as the pans heat on the stove for my usual eggs, sausage, and toast for breakfast. A second story entertains me while eating my first meal of the day.
Work begins immediately by opening a story for writing or editing. The quiet of the morning gives me time to brainstorm, as my creative juices are at their peak. I hunt and peck the keys until the story matches the images in my head. Somewhere between ten and eleven, when the cache of creativity runs dry, it becomes time to dress for the day. It becomes Showertime.
A Thirty-year problem amuses me whenever I see the curtain keeping the water inside the tub. There is a lever that I must lift to block off the water to the tub and force it through the showerhead. My best option is reaching around the curtain while it remains closed, exposing only my hand in the shower arena. I turn on the water to my preferred temperature, then lift the lever.
On the other hand, Tammy opens the curtain that removes the protection and sticks her whole body into the showerhead's aim. She lifts the lever and sets the water to a much higher temperature. However, the temperature of the first blast of water from the nozzle measures around absolute zero degrees. A fridged scream fills the house, “You always leave the level up when you get out of the shower.”
Since learning the consequences of starting the shower with the lever up as a young man, I have followed my prescribed shower method to avoid the negative 700-degree water. To this day, because I forget once or twice a year to push the level down when finishing my shower, I have my protocol when beginning. She prefers to rely on her tried-and-tested method of yelling at me after the fact. Here is a prime example for young people who wonder what marriage looks like after thirty years.
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God bless,
Danny Mac
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