Last night, events came to pass (chocolate pudding was involved), that required a bath. Foolishly, I made the decision to forgo the washing machine. I petitioned to be washed by human hands and much to my horror, I ended up in the bath… with the boy.
He seemed more intent on drowning me than bathing me. I saw my short life flash before my eyes. After a time I was able to right myself and attempt an ungainly doggy paddle.
As I grew more confident, I tried some water ballet.
But then, the shampooing began in earnest.
I don't have functioning eyelids, which made things rather disagreeable, to say the very least. To be more accurate, I was in agony. In agony I tell you! The boy dutifully shampooed me, and shampooed me, and shampooed me.
The water grew black with… dirt. The tub became a soup of grime, muck and mire. I had no idea how filthy the boy and I had become over the course of the year.
I grew more cheerful.
I am pleased to report that I am still very much alive and I smell delightfully of papaya.
Please send bananas. Thank you.