Overflow

I bought the first two bottles of bubble bath after the midterms were announced, because I heard through one-ended telephones that they might calm someone down. Wasn't able to decide between vanilla milk and sweet pea, so I bought both. They tugged on my arm as I carried them home. A capful should do the trick. With shaking arms and a feeble eye twitch from looking at the textbook too long, I uncapped the vanilla milk and slopped some into the deep lid. The water sprung on; I adjusted it to medium scorching and dumped the mixture in. Slowly, bubbles formed at the surface of the water and bobbed along like babies thrown out with their bathwater. The process was tedious, too slow, too slow, and there couldn't be anything wrong with another capful.

So I left the scene, like any goos criminal, and plotted my alibi. There were no instructions on the bottle! I forgot that I had already put in a capful! But before long, like any good criminal, I moved on from the fear and became immersed in a book. Page after page flopped on, until I dropped the book in shock after reading that Valerie was about to be shot and killed... Bending down to pick it up, I heard a faint running sound. "What is that?" I murmured to myself. No one was home. Then, strike.

I ran to the bathroom with alien speed, flung open the door and discovered a tower of bubbles hovering over the bath, about to hit the floor. It had been about ten minutes. I twisted the faucet violently and the froth teetered dangerously on the slide of the shower door. Overflow again, like out of my mind after a good study session. Now if only I could keep the bubbles off the floor and in their water. Remembering.