callous indifference

Despite numerous protests -- some organized through grassroots efforts and others involving corporate sponsorship -- the Remaining Minion refuses to cease her habit of dunking me into a vat of water and scrubbing away the various rocks, bits of dried god-knows-what, and flecks of leaves. Personally, I believe what's on my belly is a reminder of the day, a madeleine worthy of Proust that, once sampled, brings back the glory of tackling a puggle unawares, or the scent of dead fish rooted out from the dog park leaves. But then, with one scrub-scrub-scrub of her pedestrian shampoo (not even Aveda!), it all circles the drain, lost forever. Cruelty and abuse comes to the house of Ambrose.