It's a huge production for Mommy to give me a bath. I make sure of it!
She has to put on an old t-shirt and shorts. Place towels all over the bathroom floor.
Then she has to stand in the bathtub with me, placing me between her feet. This way when I start getting all psycho and try to make a break for it, she can use the old "headscissors" wrestling move on me.
The problem is she's not as young as she used to be.
I'll bet she wishes she used her ThighMaster more back in the '90's.
But I don't like to play with them anymore because after I chew a big hole to remove the squeaky, they don't bounce right or squeak and that's no fun.
I refuse to play with any ball that doesn't have a squeaky. It must have a squeaky. Then I remove the squeaky in under two minutes and refuse it play with it again.
So Mommy foolishly spends a small fortune on little red, blue, green and yellow rubber balls that I immediately destroy.
Which is why I have a crock full of holey, non squeaky balls that I won't play with... and why Mommy needs therapy.