Oh, I am seething mad.

So. Mad.

But, the entire feeling of anger throughout my body is replaced with a new feeling as I enter the kitchen.

Replaced with what? might you ask.

Horror.

Apparently, both Jones and I forgot to turn the sink off. The sink with four bars of soap in it and the water on full blast!

The entire kitchen is covered is suds. Soapy, watery, flower scented suds.

I already start to write my Will inside my head.

I, Marion Ravenwood, being of sound mind and body.

Abner, the chef, and everyone else in this house who benefits from a clean, spotless, orderly, kitchen are going to KILL ME!

Hereby bequeath all of my belongings to Carrie Smithers.

Jones is standing next to me, shock written on his face as well.

The end.

So, knowing that I'm going to die tomorrow anyways, I wade my way over to the sink, grab a dish and hurl it as Jones' head.

"ARE YOU MAD?" He yells furiously, dodging the plate as it smashes into the wall.

"No, just angry!" I yell back.

I stride over to him, ready to punch the other side of his face when all of a sudden he sticks a clump of suds on my head.

I am now drenched in soap bubbles and gasping for air.

As maturely as possible, I grab a pile of suds and stick them all over HIS head, just to see how he likes it.

"This is all your fault!" I wail as I shove the bubbles on him.

"My fault?" He questions, sticking for suds DOWN MY SHIRT, ignoring my loud shriek.

Before I can try to gain control of the situation, were in a full on soap water fight, the still running sink and broken dishes completely forgotten.

There is no more rule of personal space anymore, as long as we can get soap on each other, it's fine. I even get some suds down his pants.

Suddenly, we both grab each others arms in an attempt to stop one another and gain balance.

But you know me, always the clumsy one. I manage to slip and fall o my ass, bringing Jones down with me.

We're both lying on our backs breathing hard.

I realize how absolutely stupid we must look, covered in suds and water, and a small giggle erupts in the back of my throat. It comes out before I can stop it.

Next thing I know, I'm laughing my head off, rolling around in the suds with tears pouring down my cheeks. And Jones is laughing along with me. It's contagious. We can't control ourselves. It's like a disease we can't get rid of.

We're laughing for reasons I don't even understand. My sides feel like they're splitting.

We finally manage to stand up without collapsing into another fit of laughter.

I look around the kitchen, which looks like the soap monster went through it. I smile, despite the fact that I know I'll be dead by this time tomorrow.

Jones smiles at me and extends a soap lathered hand.

I beam back at him as we share a sudsy handshake, and then we start to clean up.

So, all in all, Indiana Jones and I are no longer enemies.

But that doesn't mean I necessarily LIKE him.