Showers

Growing up I've always had incredibly controversial feelings in regards to bathing/showering. When I was a child I remember it being nearly impossible to get me into the tub, but once I was in, nearly impossible to get me out.

I wasn't particularly fond of being wet (nor am I today.) I've always had sensitive skin, likely to my detriment. Something about water water trickling down my epidermis always seemed to bother me in some colossal way. I didn't mind being wrapped in a towel, but if I actually had to wipe water away rather than receive permission to lounge in my towel awhile to air-dry, a tantrum usually followed suit.

Into my preteen and early teen years my tantrums evolved into more of pouty silent treatments which would in themselves result in refusal to shower altogether. All in all, I admit my hygiene habits were less than stellar during my middle school/junior high days.It wasn't until late high school that I finally figure it out: The quicker the shower, the sooner it ended! Not only that, but if I showered first or after everyone else had gone to bed, I could air-dry regardless of permission. It was for this reason that I to this day despise morning showers. (I'm sure my mother is laughing at the recollected horror.)

This evening; however, I experience a very rare thing: a near-perfect shower. The water was warmer than usual. I showered quickly using a lovely peppermint scrub I received for Christmas on a soft washcloth. The heat kicked in just as I finished. I cracked the door just slightly to retain the steamy heat in the bathroom, but just wide enough to accelerate air-drying. I blow-dried my hair to the perfect wet:dry ratio, the sort necessary for my fine, long hair to resist complete soakage, yet remain perfectly French-braided overnight. (I look forward to the luscious waves that will squiggle down my head and over my shoulders when I remove the braid in the morning.) I clothed myself in over-sized fleece Long Johns and a frumpy long-sleeved shirt and succeeded in maintaining every ounce of warmth felt in the shower as I dashed into the bedroom and leaped into freshly changed linens. The only thing that couldn't possibly made my experience truly perfect is if I had used my fluffy, blue towel in place of the border-line rag, and if my husband, rather than being at work, was here to snuggle me to sleep.