Tohru's skin was red and she was practically sweating. The water in the Sohma's shower ran really hot, and she felt like a boiled lobster when she finally stepped out. That, of course, got her thinking about those poor lobsters. "Oh, those poor lobsters! Now I know how they must feel. I can't believe I ever ate one! That must mean I'm a terrible person! I'm so sorry, Lobster-san, it's all my fault!!" She squealed to herself, apologizing and bowing profusely to all of the dead lobsters, hopefully, she thought, kicking back in crustacean heaven right now, air conditioners running full blast. That, in turn, got her thinking about the cost of running the a/c all day, every day in lobster heaven. "Who pays the electricity bills, I wonder?" she thought to herself, head in the clouds, probably searching for all those little red creatures floating up there.
It was in this trance-like state that Tohru popped open the shower door with a little click and reached out blindly for her favorite strawberry embossed towel. Looking at it, she could almost smell the strawberries' scent wafting off of the cream colored fabric. Mmmm, strawberries and cream... She fantasized about eating a big bowl of it while wrapping herself in the tiny towel. It was just the end of winter now, the warm sun only recently starting to melt the tall drifts of snow that lined the tastefully landscaped yard outside the house, so there was no way she could get any strawberries, but she could certainly wish for them. With a wistful little sigh, she nudged the door open again and stepped out carefully onto the cold tile floor.
Her favorite song was playing on the radio she had set on the porcelain sink, and she hummed along with it as she dried her hair, brushed it out, and tied it up with a pink elastic band. Don't ask me why she did all of this before even getting dressed; the mind of Tohru can never be fully known. "hmm hmm hmm, la la di, hmm hmm hmm..." she hummed happily, letting the thin towel drop to the floor and reaching over to grab her underwear from the little wicker table beside the sink. It was a good thing, or maybe not so good, depending on whose perspective you're seeing things from, that she began to sing out loud just then, drowning out the sound of a sharp intake of breath from the linen closet just behind her. If she'd chosen to turn around and look, she might've even seen a glimmer as someone's eye peeked through the little crack of open space between the door and the wall.
Good thing she didn't. Who knows what she would've seen?