Her need of a shower made sense to him.  It was a girl thing, or more appropriately, a female thing.  Paul totally got the freshen up concept.  He'd gladly do the same, but visions of pizza easily trumped that idea.  So he dawdled in the living room, waiting for her to be done with her shower.  Mentally perusing the pizza parlor's menu, he wondered what kinda pie Charlette would enjoy, until he heard his name called out from the bathroom.  Something about no towel.<br/><br/>Sighing, he knew quite well the layout of his bathroom.  More specifically, the fact that the shower door was clear.  Had he been his 22-year-old self, he would have gone in there guns blazing, with her requested towel wrapped around his neck as if it were a cape.  Unfortunately, Charlette was invoking his 30-year-old self.  Following a soft knock on the door, he entered with the towel spread at arms' length, like it was a flag to be draped across the shoulders of a conquering heroine.  Two things, as far as he was concerned: Firstly, he delivered her asked-for item.  And secondly (not to mention more importantly), he was in total respect of her nudity, as all he saw was her wet, naked feet.<br/><br/>"Here ya go, Charlette," he stated as he quickly draped the towel over the door.  And just as quickly, Paul executed a clean about-face as he headed for the door and salvation.