When I was little, my parents would bathe me and my brother together, to save water and probably effort too. Of course you would, if you had two little blonde shitbags to scrub. Anyway, I enjoyed the hot water so much that I never wanted to get out. Every time there'd be a mad struggle to get me out of that tub. 

   So my mum decided to tell me that that sucking and gurgling noise that you hear from the plug when you drain a bath is a monster living in the plumbing. In a genius move, she decided to name it The Plug Monster. When she let out the plug, she'd say, "Quick! Get out! The Plug Monster will eat you! He'll suck you in!" So I used to panic and jump straight out of that white bowl of doom.

   The particular episode that flooded back to my memory today was when I was taking an exceptionally long time to get out of the bath, even though that Plug Monster was roaring his hungry growl through the pipes and sucking away all my bath water. The reason was that I had soap in my eyes, and my mum was busy wiping it all away with a towel. As soon as we were done, I got straight out of the bath and panted heavily with the relief of escaping the monster one more time.

   But there was a problem. My brother was missing. He was in the bath one minute, and the next he was not in the bathroom. Nowhere to be found. My mother soon solved the mystery when she said, "Oh no! Ashley's been eaten by The Plug Monster!" 

   And I cried. Violently and desperately, I cried. The way only four-year-olds who are genuinely distraught can cry.

   I remembered this while I dried myself this morning, and The Plug Monster gurgled his dark laughter at me through the hole in the bath. I remembered this, and I dropped straight to the floor, weeping in the foetal position.

   "GIVE ME MY BROTHER BACK!" I cried. "YOU CAN'T KEEP HIM FOREVER!"