Eyes closed, my tired hands slowly massaging my scalp. The most soothing five minutes of my day.
And then it showed up. Small and leathery, flapping around my tiny shower stall.
The unwelcome trespasser sent me spiraling. Screaming and hopping with arms flailing until I dropped to the soaked bathroom floor in a twisted, agonizing lump.
I yelled for help, but only my mother-in-law answered.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” she chided as I masked my embarrassment with soapy hands.
She tossed me a fresh terrycloth towel.
“Bats are drawn to moisture, you know,” she added helpfully.
Good to know.
The Weekday One Hundred 