God lay in the bathtub, squeezing geysers of water between his clasped hands. She knocked at the door and asked if he’d be much longer. He didn’t answer. She popped it open a crack.
“I need to brush my teeth,” she said. “Or I’ll miss my bus. Cover up.”
God pulled the shower curtain closed about halfway, and told her to go right ahead. She hurried to the medicine cabinet and squeezed toothpaste from the tube.
“Hand me my towel,” he said. “Please.”
She stopped to spit and asked if it couldn’t wait two minutes.
“But the water’s getting cold?”