The fabric of my red summer dress flows around me as I sit, but don’t be fooled by the softness of it. It clings just enough to tease, to show that I know exactly how good I look — too good to be doing something like this. But I’m on the toilet anyway. Calm. Poised. In complete control. You can’t see what’s happening beneath the dress. You don’t get that. But every sound — slow, deliberate, unmistakable — tells you exactly what’s going on. I know you're listening. Of course you are. And I want you to. I expect you to. Sit there and take it — every sound, every second. You’re not in charge here. I am.
