I wasn’t always so, let’s say, attuned to the shower ideology.
In fact, I spent most of my childhood and adolesence avoiding soap and water like ghetto crossfire. In seventh and eighth grade, I remember my gym teacher herding us all into the shower after class, but my ninth grade gym teacher wasn’t as vigilant. I skipped those showers for a year.
And at home. My poor mom. It was really like hair-pulling. Take a bath take a bath take a bath. And I’d run the water, sit next to the tub on the toilet and daydream until I figured enough bath time had elapsed. While never actually bathing. Or getting in the tub. When I was accused of having a bone dry back and shoulders? Easily solved next time by strategic splashing.
I know when I am approaching an episode. I will start to skip showers in the morning, forced to play catch-up at night. My car will start looking like a fast food wasteland, and I am all Forensic Files all the time.
I recognize the signs, but lately, I’ve been disinterested in doing anything about it. Oh, wait…I must say this: remember the essay contest I won back in February? One of the prizes was a two-hour parent coaching session. I finally redeemed that last night. Extremely helpful. We barely talked about the kids. Everything that I have always gravely disliked about talk therapy was dismantled during one conversation. Had me thinking for a moment that I may start thinking about thinking about talk therapy.
But summer is coming and summer camp isn’t cheap. Neither is a gallon of gas. Did I mention we bought furniture? Psychological help is not in the budget.
What was I talking about? Oh yeah, my daily shower. Skipped it again this morning. I’m feeling that level of stinky that is somewhere between intimate stinky where only you can smell you and top of the Metro station escalator stinky where all you’re missing is a banjo and an upturned hat.
[11 missing showers]
