I have somehow broken into my childhood home which is now inhabited by another family, and decided - because who wouldn’t - to take a shit and a shower.  Except I’m not privy to the family memo re: the non-working toilet, so when I go to flush it, it overflows onto the nice hardwood floor and who installs that kind of flooring in a bathroom, honestly?  And why do toilets never work in my dreams.  Then I take a shower, because I’m all in and there’s no backing out of this awesome plan, and when I get out, as I’m dripping all over this shower-mat-free floor, I find myself confounded by the ethical question of whether or not I use one of their towels.  Because that would be wrong.  Unlike breaking and entering.  And of course there’s still feces all over the place.  So what the hell I take a towel - there are like 25 of them in various sizes and colors - and almost instantly the door opens and the father of the family has fixed his wary gaze upon me, and I’m thinking: I should probably ask where the plunger is.