Shower Power

Posted: April 19, 2016 in Family, Humour
Tags: , , ,

power After having been married lo these many years (24 this year), I have come to realize that my wife Anne and I have many differences. Good ones, to be sure. Some differences at odds with nature or logic from a man’s perspective, but ones that are acceptable and sometimes sweet and loveable. Okay, frustrating at times, but cute in their own way.

I have mentioned this to her from time to time, and she told me right away, emphatically in fact, that I was actually ‘a real treat’ to coexist with. I have played this comment back time after time in my head, and slowly have changed my view of what she said, or more specifically, how she said what she said. In my mind I am now detecting a note of sarcasm to the term ‘a real treat’. Perhaps I am wrong.

Nevertheless…..there are certainly differences. Ones to celebrate. Ones to curse. Others to laugh about. Today I would like to concentrate on one which is often frustrating, sometimes painful, and even quite dangerous; the difference in our shower habits.

Before I continue, let me assure you that this is not about our cleanliness. We both shower and wash at least once, often twice a day. ‘Keep your bean clean!’ my mom would always say. I hope she meant my head, at the least the ne containing my brain. In case, I have always made sure that all beans are clean in the event she meant the other. So that we are clear…..we are clean.

To fill you in on the main difference, allow me to set an example of what happened recently: After a hard day’s work, I made my way to our upstairs bathroom to luxuriate in a soft, hot shower that would loosen the muscles on my body and let the stress of the day fall slowly down the drain. I ran the bath until the water was just right, then pulled the plunger-thingy to send the water to the shower head, all with the intent to do the aforementioned melting away of the stress. As the water made it’s way there, I imagined a soliloquy of soft classical music caressing my soul, my mind already half-way to Zen.

Instead, I found myself plastered against the back wall, the sound of Death Metal roaring in my brain. After making my way back to the faucet through the onslaught to turn the water off, this is a list of my injuries: I lost half my chest hair, my left nipple, my right eye, cracked three ribs, lost a thumb nail, 70% of my hearing, and my bowl o Skittles. I have managed to recover most of the aforementioned items, but the only Skittle I managed to recover was wedged firmly where the sun doesn’t shine, so needless to say I wasn’t going to ‘taste the rainbow’.

Anne, of course, thinks that a good shower means not only exfoliating without a luffa, but that you should be left bleeding on the floor in a fetal position. She has obviously toughened up over the years, building an endurance to the stream with skin that can only be described as ‘diamond tough’. No knife or other rudimentary prison shank could penetrate her skin. I suppose that’s a good thing considering she has to deal with me quite a bit.

I do not like the ‘death laser’ setting on the shower. I would label mine ‘Care Bear’ setting, or even ‘puffy fluffy pillow’ setting. I like to get in then out with roughly the same amount of skin. I certainly like to protect my ‘winky’, and prefer to shave with a razor, not the laser.

I now exclusively shower in the basement. I wonder if that was her plan all along?

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