One way or another, I always sat at the plug end of the bath. As the younger sister, I just drew the short straw. As the older sister, I was in control of the taps. I was old enough now  to run my own bath, and to help my little brother in and out. We liked having bubbles in the bath, and sometimes we made bubbles of our own, 
which we thought was hilarious - well they just popped out, you couldn't stop them.

Once I was having a bath with my little brother when this happened, and suddenlythe bath was full of goldfish! Well they looked like goldfish, they were swimming around everywhere. " Eeeugh, " I exclaimed, " There's all weird stuff in the bath, we'll have to change the water " I quickly pulled the plug out and shooed them down the plughole. " Don't tell anyone, don't tell anyone " I panicked. I refilled the bath, my heart in my mouth, desperate to complete the manoeuvre before my mum came
to check on us. Phew! I think I got away with it, at least nobody ever mentioned it, thank God, and I don't know if my brother had understood what had just occurred.

Oops. Must've been something I ate.

Strangely I now realise , I continued to sit on the plug until well into my twenties. It was only after watching certain T.V. ads for soothing, foaming bath products, in which a blissed - out bather turns the taps on and off with her feet, that I understood my folly. So conditioned was I to my lot in life, that I hadn't registered the discomfort of sitting on the plug with the taps digging in to my back.

I was such a doormat then.