Diary entry: April 14
A long evening shower is one of my guilty pleasures. Get surprised. Yeah, it ain’t secret anymore. Somehow sacred. From wrapping a towel round the nethers to the ultimate showergasm brought by the last cold trickle on my back, i’d confess, to me, the bathroom is a shrine.
Like in all pleasures, the same style is boring. I always spice up my evening liturgy; you don’t have to shower the same way every day.
Today, I enter the ‘shrine’ backwards with my purple plastic chair. Sounds like a ritual but that’s the only way this chair seems to give in through the narrow doorway. I place it precisely beneath the droplets, then bang the door for an intentional clap of thunder that sends the hanging bulb into a pendulum swing. I drown the room in a heavy cloud of air-freshening spray, play with the hanging switch to flicker the lights for two bolts of lightning; then silence. I love this! That’s me getting turned on for a shower.
The first cold trickle pounces on me like the early bird on the worm. It’s just a tip of the iceberg though, and yes, it’s icy cold! Yet the thrill, you know, borders “auto-hydro-asphyxiation”. Don’t bother, I invent words. The tap’s still not turned on by the way.
Do my thing on the tap and the other droplets come crashing down on me like the rest of the ice-berg. Plant my titanic mass – that’s how i think of myself nowadays – onto the seat in full submission to the consequences. No. This is no accident. This’ bathing. A form of hydrotherapy.
There’s no tub here. Beside me, the sink and my makeshift table alias the ‘bathing altar’. On it, my folded towel, toothbrush, Gilette shaver, hand lotion, hand-wipes, a mirror (damn! there’s one here? surprise!) and my phone. Lying there helpless like sacrifices. Beneath the table; an umbrella. I knew it. Always full of surprises. Damn me? I fling open the umbrella, pick my phone, then this lazy type-away. Always prepared :D.