She Would Never Do This to Her Dad

Long before I became a mother, I recognized the exquisite solitude of standing under a running shower. It is a mind clearing oasis; some of my greatest thinking occurs there. It's also an unparalleled therapy session. When my parents died in quick succession, I realized that there is no finer place to cry. The shower fan and running water drown out that loud hyper-ventilating crying that occurs with profound loss. The abundance of soap and water promise to leave no mascara trail. As a mother, I quickly learned that most everyone will almost always leave me alone there. Most and almost being the key words there. Every once in a while, my zen-like meditative atmosphere is pierced by cruel reality. A few showers ago while I was deep in quiet thought, the back end of the shower curtain rips open with such force that Norman Bates himself would have jumped back. Startled, I look to see an unphased Julia peeking her head in. In her hand is a miniature Hershey bar. "Um, do you think it'd be okay if I had this?" Is it because we are both females; because I entirely lack modesty; or else is it just a child's unconditional expectation of their mother. Regardless, she would never do this to her dad. Lucky, lucky me.