Non-bath-night bath

We've been parents for five years now and have never won a single award for the cleanliness of our children.  "My, your children are clean," a stranger has never said. 

But this evening, Rowan requested a non-bath-night bubble bath.  He wanted to relax after a tough day, perhaps, like every romantic comedy's female protagonist.  So Julie sat up there with him while he splashed around.

After 10 minutes or so, he stood up and announced,  "I wanna det out now."

Julie put down her magazine, rinsed him off, and grabbed a towel.

"I want you to mate me into a ta-toe."  (Making him into a taco involves wrapping the towel around him, neck to toes, like it's a tortilla and he's a slippery piece of chicken.)

"Okay, buddy."

Then he changed his mind.  "No, Mommy.  I want you to mate me into a baby buwwito."  (Making him into a baby burrito involves exactly the same procedure.)

Tomorrow Julie's taking him to a train show at the River Centre in St. Paul.  Smart money says the instant he sees Thomas the Train, he'll aggressively release his bowels and negate the bath.