My Darling B kissed me good-bye as I sat in the recliner finishing up another chunk of Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game. (Well, what do you call it when paperback prose is broken up by gaps or bars or stars? They’re not chapters – Ender’s Game has proper chapters. There’s probably a neater work than “chunks,” but I don’t know it and I’m not looking for it right now.)

B went on her way to the grocery store and, when I finally finished up the aforesaid chunk and swigged the rest of the coffee out of my mug, I tore off all my clothes and jumped into the shower, turned the handle on the spigot all the way around to get some scalding water coming out the shower head, leaned back and let it run from tip to toe. When I was just about hard-boiled, I stepped out of the stream, blinked my eyes to clear them and reached for the shampoo.

No shampoo. B must have taken the bottle with her to fill it up at the grocery store. Had to wash my hair with bar soap, which means that static electricity will make it stick straight out from my head all day long, or I’ll have to mousse it. I don’t have any mousse, so I’ll look like Einstein, then. Can’t solve any of the mysteries of the universe, but I can stick my tongue out almost as far as he can.