The Naked, Dripping Walk of Shame

Fifty two years of showering and I still can’t remember to check if there is soap in the shower before getting in. Thus begins the naked, dripping walk of shame, complete with wet washcloth on the shoulder, through the house to retrieve the extra soap from the pantry.

As I wander through the house, I am reminded of the countertop soap displays that my grandmother helpfully left out in her bathroom. More than once I guiltily used some of her pretty soaps because there was no other soap to use in the bathroom. According to experts consulted after the fact, that is why soap displays are left out on the counter in the first place. So that you don’t have to walk through the house, dripping and naked, to get soap. Well, that is one load of guilt off my mind.

There would be no hope for me if I weren’t old-fashioned and still used soap in bar form. There is no living down the trip to the store, dressed only in a bathrobe, just to get more body wash. Body wash. Heh. Just another name for overpriced shampoo. I will never understand the attraction to that stuff. You ain’t clean till you’ve scrubbed the bar against the washcloth and gotten a good lather, and then ground off all the skin on every surface of your body; and you don’t put clean clothes on a body that hasn’t been washed first, that is a cardinal sin.

At least there were no guests downstairs to witness the walk of shame. No guests, this time.


Author: RAnthony

I'm a freethinking, unapologetic liberal. I'm a former CAD guru with an architectural fetish. I'm a happily married father. I'm also a disabled Meniere's sufferer.

Attacks on arguments offered are appreciated and awaited. Attacks on the author will be deleted.

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