delovelycouture

If the porcelain tub were to break, it would be a travesty. All that warm water that had chivalrously quenched my bodily thirst would lose me forever to a cold tile floor. The gravity of the world lets you down, as the sides of the antique tub fall piece by piece, like a distraught alien in a different country. Tears are falling as they miss their train; the porcelain bits are being bombarded with warm water. But warm water was bound to cool, and tubs were bound to break.