Monkey Business

layla streaks

Thursday, April 1, 8:00 a.m.

I soap my body. Then I rinse the conditioner out of my hair. Then I turn off the water and reach out of the shower curtain for my towel. For my towel. Where is my towel?

I open the curtain. My towel is gone. My bathrobe is gone. What happened to my stuff? I stand there dripping, totally confused. And then I hear it. A pitter-patter of giggling from outside the stall.

“Hello?” I call over the door. “Has anyone out there seen what happened to my stuff?”

“Your stuff?” Jamie asks. “What stuff?”

“I had a bathrobe and a towel and…oh, you jackass.” I suppose this is what you get when you’re involved with a jokester.

“April Fools’!” he screams from the other side of the wall.

“This isn’t funny,” I say but can’t stop myself from laughing.

“What’s not funny?”

It doesn’t seem like I’m getting my towel back anytime soon. So what are my options? I look around. The curtain is hooked up to the shower rod. I could always unhook it and wrap myself in it. I could, if it wasn’t germ infested.

I’d rather be naked. Kind of sexy. I’ll just sprint. Only other problem: my keys are in my bathrobe pocket. “I’ll make you a deal,” I say. “I’ll come out, if you pass me my keys.”

No answer.

Here goes nothing. I take my shower basket and place it in front of my crotch. It doesn’t do the job. Good thing I’ve been keeping my bikini wax up-to-date. Then I sneak out from behind the curtain into an empty bathroom and sprint, grabbing two paper towels, one per breast, as I run.

A flashbulb goes off.

The door to my room is open and Jamie’s howling. “That,” he says, “was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Hilarious.” I pull Jamie into my room and kiss him. I know I should be angry with him, furious even, but it is April Fools’ Day, and it’s not as if anyone else saw me streaking through the halls, not that I would have really cared one way or another. But still…I wish sometimes he’d be less of a clown. “You know, I like you when you’re serious, too. You don’t always have to make a joke out of everything.”

“Okay, just one more. What does an MBA call dating?”

“What?”

“Test marketing.”

I shake my head. “Come here, funny-boy,” I say, then kiss him again.