Bathtub Terror!!!!!!!!!!!!

My feet were covered with three inches of warm, cloudy water. (Low-level cirrus clouds, to be exact- cirrus being latin for curl of hair, which I'm quite sure I spotted.) Large forceful drops were falling from above as I nervously crept along at a snails pace. A hot, wet, female snail- barren, in search of food and struggling to survive. The water just kept pouring down. As I lifted my face heavenward and felt the raw cleansing power of the showerhead, an uneasy feeling crept along my spine like a homosexual cat. Feeling lightheaded from the glorious exhalation that never ceased, I wanted to close my eyes and yield entirely to the masculine drops that were beating down on me without thought of remorse, but I knew danger was afoot- and quite literally. The shower alligators were preparing for a foot feast. Why wouldn't the bathtub drain any quicker? Cirrus, cirrus- like a secret whispered by a midnight ghost. Damn you, curls of hair.