Let me tell you what I see when I draw back my shower curtain and look into the stall. I see razors, cans, bottles, louffas, and contraptions that were meant to hold razors, cans, bottles, and louffas, but which have long since broken and become just another piece of trash in this junkyard of a shower stall.
What is all this junk for? Why do you need 4 different bottles of shampoo and 6 different bottles of conditioner? You only have one head! I'm not sure who designed the tiny shelves in here--what good is a 2 inch ledge? This would be a great place to lean a package of cigarettes if it wasn't for the fact that they sloped the ledge downward ever-so-slightly so that literally nothing can rest on it. And yet, still people try to stack all these body care products in here. There's an irony in having such an untidy shower stall.
A shower is a place for cleanliness. The purpose of a bath or a shower is to get CLEAN. That means you REMOVE dirt, sweat, grime, or whatever else might be on you. Somewhere along the line though, the idea of what constitutes being "clean" has become corrupted and perverted. Now, people hop into showers to smear themselves with all-purpose shower gels, moisturizer creams, and detoxifying lotions. None of that crap comes off in a rinse! Your body was actually cleaner BEFORE you got in that shower! What ever happened to a simple bar of soap? Why do we need all this other chemical garbage that just leaves a slippery film on your skin? Corporations have convinced people that having slimy skin means your body is well-hydrated. If having hydrated skin means I have to feel like I just crawled through a whale's sinus cavities, count me out!
Anyway, here's a short story about the DANGERS of using all this extra crap. Hopefully it'll make some of you reconsider your shower habits.
So, I was about to hop in the shower the other day, and as I looked into the stall I saw my girlfriend had left the bath mat on the floor of the stall. I remember her saying something about being careful when I got into the shower because it might be slippery after she laced her bathwater with Skin-So-Soft (a product with the consistency of lamp oil which is capable of both softening your skin and killing mosquitoes). Normally I would have removed the bath mat right away because all those little suction cups on the bottom of it just remind me of octopus tentacles and creep me way the hell out, but I figured my girlfriend probably had good cause to leave it there, so I trusted her judgement.
SIDENOTE: Never trust your girlfriend's judgement.
I put one foot in on the mat without incident (but that's how bath mats get you, you see), but when I put my second foot on it, everything went to hell. The octopus suckers let go of the super-lubricated floor of the tub, and I became Aladdin. That's right, Aladdin. The only difference between him and I was that I rode bright blue bath mats through the air instead of magic carpets, and, despite being surrounded by alllllll of those bloody bottles of shampoos, conditioners, cleansers, and moisturizers, not frigging one of them held a helpful genie willing to save me.
I managed to jump off the mat before it flew back to the Cave of Wonders and I man-stomped my feet onto the floor of the stall.
BOOM-BOOM.
My knees were slightly bent, I was sort of crouched down. Whew! That was close. Clearly, my girlfriend wasn't joking when she said the tub was slippery. I'd just have to be extra careful when--
Suddenly, my feet were moving on their own. You would have had to have been there to see it, but my face was set in deep concentration with just a hint of what might have been panic in my eyes. My upper body stayed perfectly still. My arms were out like wings, whirling in opposite directions for balance. Below my waist, I was doing a naked breakdance at an unfathomable speed.
It looked like Amateur Night at a really shitty male stripclub, sponsored by Red Bull.
It looked like someone taught a gorilla to do a jig, and then fed it fistfulls of methamphetamines.
I looked like an X-rated log-driver.
I managed to get my hands on the hand-bar thingie in the stall and stop this madness for a moment, but then my feet shot out away from one another. If I had been standing differently, my feet might have reached the rounded edges of the tub and stopped, leaving me with my legs only slightly parted; however, just because God was enjoying himself so much, he made this happen when I was standing in such a way that each of my feet were headed towards the front and back of the stall. By the time my feet reached the far ends of the tub, I would have been doing the kind of deep-splits that Olympic gymnasts only dream about. Knowing this would mean the end of my career as a baby-making man, I had to reach deep down inside myself for strength.
Just like He-Man calling on the Power of Grayskull, I gathered together all the power of my buttcheeks and locked the muscles in my lower body.
"I HAVE THE POWERRRRRRR!!!!"
I took the rest of my shower with one hand on the hand-bar, both feet firmly planted against the sides of the tub, and my ass-cheeks cramping repeatedly. It was the most exhausting shower of my life. And why? All because people have lost sight of what a shower stall is supposed to be.
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