When I'm taking a late night shower to prepare to go to my husband's late night hockey game so that his late night friends won't think I'm a late night skanky whore.
And I pull open the curtain and step out of the shower to find that my towel isn't hanging in its customary place.
Because it was used as a cum rag after a late night tryst.
And all the other towels are in the linen closet. In the hall. Across from the six-foot-high window that looks out over the enlisted housing complex.
And I'm freezing.
So I wrap myself in the robe my husband has had since high school and washed as often as his jock strap.
And I'm instantly right back to smelling like a late night skanky whore.