I walked into the house one evening, tired from a long day at work, and was immediately struck by something odd. Our babysitter, a bright young woman named Jenna, was stepping out of the bathroom with wet hair, clutching a towel. Her apologetic smile greeted me before I even had the chance to ask what was going on.
“Oh, Mrs. Allen,” she began, looking slightly embarrassed. “Your youngest spilled milk all over me while I was feeding her. I had to take a quick shower while they were napping.”
Her explanation sounded reasonable enough, but something didn’t sit right with me. I glanced at her, then back at the bathroom. “I understand accidents happen,” I said carefully, “but I don’t think it’s appropriate for you to shower here without asking first.”
Jenna brushed off my concern with a light laugh. “I’m really sorry, but I thought it was better than staying sticky all day. The kids were fine; it was just a quick shower.”
