A Domestic Spat At Wayne Manor

So picture this:
Bruce Wayne,
in his multi-
billion dollar
bathtub, up to
his well-sculpted
BatPectorals™ in
white soap suds,
sudsing himself
to hot thoughts of a
Cat Woman /
Poison Ivy /
Harley Quinn
trifecta of
supervillainness
voluptuosity,
when suddenly,
the door creaks,
Alfred enters,
unannounced,
with fresh-pressed shirt.
The Bat,
caught in the act,
can't stop the squirt
that spurts above
the bathtub's rim.
Prickly silence ensues,
a stare, startled,
shared between master
and servant.
Finally,
the butler clears his
English throat, says,
“Master Bruce,
might I kindly suggest,
in the future,
use the lock.”
The dark knight's terse reply:
“Or, y'know, you could learn
to freaking knock!”