I haven't showered at my mom's in ages. When I turned the water on, the stream felt brutal to me, a delicious forceful steady punch. My shower at home is more of a dribble, like a dying dog. It made me wonder about how I live. I am sure others have pressure deficiencies with their showerheads, and I know I have brothers and sisters out there who must choose between freezer burn and The Melting Point (because "pleasant" is a make-believe temperature Amen).
But do others become too generous with the application of shaving cream on one leg, and in a panicked effort to conserve, start rubbing their legs together in the shower like a grasshopper? Do people murder fruit flies with foaming bathroom cleaner because they forgot there was a yam behind the coffee maker? Do they usher house flies in groups of three out of the front door by means of the light in the hall (do not leave your window open in the summer)? Do I have kin in the viciously sputtering water heater that turns on when it is 75* outside, but lies dormant through the roasting 20* waking hours until my sleepy icicle eyes begin to droop because BY GEORGE this is the premium stage for a hurricane? when you're exhausted from the flies, and the foreigners hooting drunk lullabies and hate crimes outside your window, which, honestly, is the best part about anything?
Well I could be drinking mud water, and so could you, so grow up.
I never told anybody about that cat. It's cool.
Update, May 30th 2009: "because BY GEORGE this is the premium stage for a hurricane?" What a stupid fucking sentence. I wrote it and after only a month it took me a long minute to understand it.
