Let me in, let me in!

What is there about being a mommy that means you don't get to be in the bathroom alone, ever?

Take last Sunday.  We don't move too fast around here on Sunday mornings.  I get up around 5, make a pot of coffee, give the begging cats their wet food, and curl up with my laptop to work on the lecture for Monday's class (or whatever needs working on.  Sometimes it's Facebook.)  I sit on the couch by the east window, watch the sun come up, and enjoy the stillness that comes with being up before everybody else on the block.  Yes, I'm a morning person.  It's a little sick but I've learned to deal with it.

Usually, sometime between 7 and 8, Miss L will wander out in her footie pajamas with the zoo animals on them, curly blond hair standing out all over, rubbing her eyes.  "Mommy, you're here!"  (I"m not sure why she so frequently sounds surprised about this.)  Sometimes she'll give me a hug, sometimes she'll just announce, "It's time for Super Why!" and trundle off to the bedroom, where Daddy-O (who stays up till ungodly hours of the night playing His Little Games and therefore is of no use to anyone before about 11) is still asleep.  She'll fix that.  "Daddy, where's the remote?  Daddy?  Daaaaaaaaaaaaaddy?  Where's the remote?"  I hear sleepy mumblings from Daddy-O, then the jaunty singing of some happy cartoon show.  Back to my computer.  I can usually get another hour of work in.

Eventually, I make breakfast.  Depending  upon my level of motivation, this might be an elaborate spread including pancakes and eggs...or it might be toast with PB&J.  Just depends on the Sunday.  Miss L doesn't care as long as her tummy gets full.

Then, sometime around mid-morning, it's shower time.  Daddy-O is up and chatting with Miss L at the table as she finishes her toast.  I go into the bathroom.  I close the door but don't lock it.  Adjust the water to my desired level of "hot."  Step in.  Tip head back, let water cascade down my back.  Ahh.

Doorknob rattles.  Shower curtain sways slightly as the door opens.  Miss L's voice:  "Mommy, what are you doing?"

"I'm taking a shower."

"What does it do?"  (This is her favorite questions at the moment.)

"It gets me nice and clean so I smell good."  She ponders this.  Toilet flushes.  Twice.  She is bored but reluctant to leave.  "Go back out to Daddy, please."

"All right."  Little footsteps pat-a-pat out.  At least she's agreeable. She left the door open.  Damn.  I consider getting out and closing it, but the draft isn't too bad, so I don't.

I reach for the shampoo, squirt some out, lather it into my hair.  Halfway through the lathering process, in saunters Daddy-O.  Now, the two-year-old I can understand strolling in like she owns the place (which she basically does)...but for God's sake, I don't bother HIM when he's in the shower.  Nevertheless...he begins speaking.

"Hey..."  Pause.  "Mumblemumble something the internet mumble peanuts mumblemumble timbucktu gravel chainsaw. Okay?"

"What in the hell did you just say?"

"Mumblemumble squeegee harumph koalas bog petard Christmas."

"Can't this wait till after my shower?"  Not only can I not understand him (Daddy-O is a Grand Champion Mumbler), I don't care, and I'm starting to get irritated.

"Fine!"  He walks out, pouting.  I often tell people I have two children: a two-year-old and a twenty-six-year-old.

"Close the door!"  I peek out.  He didn't.  It's still half open.  I still don't get out and push it shut.  Back to washing my hair.

I am rinsing when I hear the bathroom door bump into the wall.  NOW which one is it? Seconds later, the shower curtain wiggles: nudgey nudgey.

One white paw sneaks around the edge of the curtain, followed by a gold-and-white whiskered face.  It's the Smaller One.  He bats the curtain open a few inches.  Behind him, I can see the Large One sitting, waiting expectantly, her big green eyes filled with loving condescension.  The Smaller One goes and sits next to her.  They both stare at me.

"Traitors."

Neither cat blinks.  They sit there and continue staring at me until I get out and dry off. I feel sort of like a circus sideshow act.  Maybe the Monkey Woman, since I didn't shave.

"Is there a point you're trying to make with all this?"

Not a mew, not a movement.  Their mocking stare says it all:  Next time, lock the door, stupid.  And we want more cat food.