“Why are there so many bubbles?” Its soap, mother.

I’m at the end of my goddamn rope here. 22F, oldest daughter and the only one who still lives at home. I wonder why? It’s gotten to the point where she’s recently shown me how to “properly close the door,” and just recently insisted on coming into a dressing room with me to help me pick out MY OWN DRESS. Just yesterday I was washing my hand and she called up the stairs for me, and then came and found me, only to ask me “why are there so many bubbles?” In the sink. THE SINK? THE SINK IN WHICH WE USE SOAP TO WASH OUR HANDS? THE SOAP THAT FOAMS AND CREATES BUBBLES?

She then proceeded to ‘helpfully’ instruct me how to wash the bubbles down the drain by delicately splashing small bits of water onto the foam. How very helpful and vital that I drop everything to wash down soap.