lynn rosetto casper, quoting margaret atwood today on 'the splendid table'
last sunday i took a hotel-room shower, taking the actual cleansing process about as seriously as the mini soap and mini shampoo and mini mouthwash. i did just a cursory scrub down to combat an external damage that snarfing an omelet and hashbrowns at mickey's diner was doing to my innards. i was hopeful that my skin would not begin bubbling and gurgling and rolling like the thin plastic casing on a waterbed.
on monday i did not shower.
on tuesday i meant to shower, but was running late and so went unkempt to my one scheduled event during my seven days of vacation. afterward, there didn't seem to be a reason to shower: it was raining.
wednesday. wednesday i showered. i remember this only because i stopped home to first and foremost feed my cat and decided, meh, what the hey, why not?
thursday i woke up smelling like rt quinlin's armpit and the anchor's dirty socks. i combatted this with two swipes of degree for men and a spritz of gap body spray. i did not shower, but i did play hoops on a hot west duluth playground and then hike a bit.
by friday i'd added the aroma of the pioneer's bellybutton to the bar-scent potpourri. again, it occured to me that some people actually enjoy a daily shower. but we were going to be tooling around gooseberry falls, anyway, so ...
i felt my failings briefly on friday night. a quick dinner at nokomis, which deserves better than the acid-washed mom jeans, running shoes and a long sleeved white t'shirt i'd worn all day. bramble still clinging to it from a showoffy somersault on the trail. i had to use the bathroom at nokomis. but felt that no one eating a 30 dollar meal needed to get caught in my cross wind. degree for men or no degree for men. i held it. and wished i'd brushed my hair.
by saturday morning, even my fingernails were dirty. not to mention jagged and broken from gripping a basketball for the first time in 15 years. crowned with crusty brown half moons. my hair so greasy that, that each strand separated and glistened. like i'd used my hair as a napkin after snarfing up french fry buffet.
i showered saturday afternoon and it was good. i stood in the stream, soaped up everything twice and vowed to do this more often. it's not like i've been busy. and its not like i'm afraid of water [shut it.] just for some reason, my leisure got in the way of something leisurely.
i can't stop being gross.