No greater joy

My stepdad works early most days and it’s only ever on weekends when he’s awake and getting ready at the same time as me. And it’s on the weekend that I am able to indulge in a particular hobby. A very odd, but very gratifying hobby. This hobby is to - when my stepdad is in the shower - wander into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of lovely, cold water. Or fill up the kettle for a few cups of tea. Or wash some of the dishes that are sat by the sink.

Because when I run that kitchen tap, the shower runs cold in turn. And when that shower runs cold, there comes a delightful shout of ‘HEY!’ or ‘OI!’, as the water pouring over that man turns to an icy rain of hell. I keep it running just a moment longer than could be considered unintentional. I want him to know that this is a planned attack. There is no greater joy than drinking down that cup of victory water after turning the tap. Or preparing a cup a tea for myself and my Mum. Or drying off the newly cleaned dishes. The petty satisfaction from knowing what I have done is stronger than any other I have experienced. And I always find myself looking forward to the weekends.