Don broke the shower this morning. The stem of the shower-pull (what are those things actually called? You know, the little thing you pull to make water stop coming from the tub faucet and start coming from the shower head) fell out of the top bit and fell straight through the faucet and plunked into the bathwater. (I said, "Did you reach in and feel around for it?" and he gave me a look like I might be a dangerous criminal on the loose.)
As we looked upon our poor maltreated bathtub -- yes, this is that bathtub -- Don began making plans to either stay home from work or come home early, in order to go to Home Depot and get a new faucet today, so that I would be able to shower.
"You do know," I said, "that we have another shower in this house."
He looked at me blankly for a minute, and then rolled his eyes. "No," he explained patiently. "We have a half-bath off the kitchen that just happens to have a bathtub in it."