THE SHOWER

Shower

I was in high school in 1945 when I first took showers. We only had bath tubs in our houses in Brooklyn.  We bathed once a week or so in the tubs. In high school I played vigorous bouts of football, basketball and baseball and sweated a lot. We took showers at school after workouts and games. In 1948 we moved to a home with showers and tubs. My brother Edwin and I did showers every day.

Hopping into the shower soon after awakening became routine from my teens until my mid eighties. Then I noticed  that I longer sweat or got dirty. I soon had to force myself to take a shower every other day now. I fear for my health and broken bones as I sidle into the soap slippery tub with shower head attached. Bending down to scrub my feet which are six feet down always takes courage and daring. I hold on to walls and glass doors as I scrub away with intensity. 

I rather like to shampoo my hair with a tangy fruit smelling liquid which burns my eyes unless I shut them. Then my balance betrays me so that I often drop the shampoo. Picking it up my butt bats the hot water handle and I scald myself.

Emerging from the tub shower, climbing over the tub rim, holding on to the walls and shower door frame. I step out onto the rug and balance myself as I lean toward the nearby sink, I straighten up ready dry off and face the grease job to anoint my body to relieve the alligator quality of my ageing dermatolological frame.

I hate this part the most. Bending slapping and reaching back to slather my back makes me cry. Slithering down to grease my ankles forces air out of my lungs.  Sweet Ann often volunteers to relieve my agony and does the grease job for me.

The showers cleanses my body but not my guilt. Refreshes my senses me like a little resurrection. Reminds me of Baptism where new life begins.

I wish I thought thoughts like that. But, I simper and wait for two todays to go by when I am forced to shower again.