I once was employed as the cleaner of a big holiday home that was near where I lived in the country. It was a pleasure to look after such a nice place. The owners from the city would spend their weekends there.
The house had spacious lounge rooms with enormous paintings on the walls, bedrooms with four-poster beds and in one of the bathrooms, an enormous claw-footed bathtub.
The owners always arrived on Friday afternoon and I would make sure the house was ready for them by Thursday.
One week I went there on a Tuesday and instead of cleaning the house, ran myself a luxurious bath and, knowing I was quite alone, lay there soaking. It was so good I stayed in for a long time.
I had planned to clean the tub after I was dried and dressed but feeling so relaxed, I decided to do it tomorrow when I came back to clean the whole house.
I floated home feeling like a princess. There was no bath where I lived, just the shower.
Next morning my dreamy state was rudely interrupted when the phone rang. It was the owners. They said that their holiday house had been broken into in the night!
The police had caught someone walking away from the house, in the dark, carrying bottles of wine and spirits and frozen food. There was no damage done, but the owners said the strangest thing was that the burglar had a bath while he was there!
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