I asked the Right Little Madam, “Where’s your sister? It’s time for lunch.”
“Washing her hands like you said”
“In the little bath.”
“The little bath?” The Number One Daughter and I looked at one another with raised eyebrows. “Where exactly is the little bath?”
“In Granny and Granddad’s bathroom.” Clearly the Right Little Madam thought we’d gone mad.
“Oh!” I said, “The bidet.”
“The B Day?”
“The little bath by the shower.” I explained. “It’s a French invention.” I then explained the original purpose of the bidet, “It’s for washing your bottom,” not, I should add, that we’ve ever used it and this isn’t the post to discuss their pros and cons. I can’t help wondering how many people who do have them in their bathrooms actually do use them. I suppose it might come in useful as a glorified footbath in the summer or perhaps I could give the houseplants a good soak in it.
“That’s disgusting,” the Right Little Madam announced as the Number One daughter hurried off to secure the Littlest Madam who, by that stage in the proceedings had soaked her cardigan and was washing her face in the bidet. “Someone should tell those people about showers,” The Right Little Madam continued. “I like having a shower.”
Up on the landing I could hear a small voice, “I like the little bath,” The Littlest Madam announced as her mother removed her. “I can turn the taps on without any help. The bath ducks could go for a swim in the little bath and I could wash my doll in it. The water hits the ceiling.”
Should I be worried? Perhaps I out to remove the plug for the time being.