Bathtub Dan learned the hard way: if you are taking a bath with a woman, memorize her last name. Just in case. Because she’ll be pissed if you don’t know it.
Most women have a first name and a last name. Not Madonna. Not Beyoncé. Was it a singer thing? What about Grimes? Dan wasn’t sure why Grimes was famous, besides dating Elon Musk. He was pretty sure she was famous before she started dating Elon Musk—who had two names—but he was male. Was Eminem a woman? Dan made a note to ask one of his kids about Eminem the next time he talked to one of them, but they didn’t always answer him. Calls or texts. And it’d be just like them to give him some bullshit answer, just to fuck with him. Not that he could really blame them for being sarcastic assholes. Being a sarcastic asshole himself.
But, sarcasm aside, he’d known the woman he had been taking a bath with had a first name and a last name. She was not famous, but she was hot. And they were in the bath tub.
Dan ran his hand through his still-damp hair. Not that it was a problem. It never got that cold in LA. But it was an awfully long walk. He’d call the boy. It’d only been a month or two since he’d helped him get his car running. He’d have the whole ride back to town to pass on his newest piece of practical life advice.
He might not make father of the year, but it was a start.
Prompted by a line in this essay by Adeline Dimond.
Leave me a comment with an inanimate object, a living thing, and a location and I will write a story with it.