Murder Scene

(Not for the squeamish...)

"Okay," warned Simone. "I'm going to hop out of bed and run for the washroom."

"Why?" Hubby asked, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Hand firmly holding her underwear and pad, Simone raced to the washroom. In fact, she nearly flew to the washroom. Her feet may have touched the ground once. To no avail: the explosion had already occurred.

By the time Simone sat on the toilet seat, blood splatters graced the cupboards, bathtub and toilet lid. The floor looked like a murder scene and Simone's legs and hands looked like the culprits.

Simone reached for the disinfectant wipes and attempted to clean the floor.

"Hmm," said hubby judiciously from the bedroom. "I think we may have to change the sheets today."

Simone bit back the snarky retort that peppered up and wiped a particularly large parcel of red from her ankle.

"Leave that," said hubby. "Just hop in the shower and I'll clean up the mess."

"Really?" Simone couldn't believe her luck.

"Really," he assured her with confidence born of years of handling Simone. "You're making a bigger mess trying to clean up. Just leave it to me."

So Simone hopped into the shower and happily washed up.

Hubby slid the shower door open. "One thing though. Be sure not to call the police for a few days. I don't think I can get everything out of the grout."

Bless that man! He's the best.