Saturday, April 28, 2007


Today is a fairly gross day. I still haven't fixed the shower, and this time not entirely out of laziness. It seems as if it's just a bit above my ability, and I'm a little scared to mess with it for fear of making the situation worse.

Baths just take too long. I've enjoyed taking baths lately, but it isn't my preferred method of cleansing myself. I want a nice hot shower, stand under the water and feel nice for a minute, then soap my ass good and get the hell out. That's a simple request right?

I'm in dire need of a bath, though not as dire as if I worked and got sweaty. I'm developing a swampy down-there area, and my armpits have a certain homemade hamburger quality in the arena of scent. My hair is icky enough so that when I push my sunglasses up on my head they come back down a little smudgy.

I could wait till after derby practice tomorrow when I know Momma will need a bath because it's always nice to hop in with her, but I'm tired of feeling so damn . . . well, icky.

Another factor that has come into play is the clothes dryer. Did I tell you about it? Did I tell you how it mostly works except for the lack of hot air? One can't very easily dry clothes with just the spinning and the blowing, though spinning and blowing has a kind of dirty but fun sound to it. I have clean pants, but the britches what goes under the pants I may not have any of clean, and all my favorite tshirts are also not so much clean.

Don't get me started on the britches. It's past time to trash them all and replace them, my favorite pair having passed threadbare long ago and entered the world of split in the back just like I'm a little split in the back. The rest are so worn that I could probably read a newspaper through them. I'm already wearing yesterday's socks, and if I take a bath now, I'll have to sniff through the laundry to find the next least dirty pair of socks. Nothing makes you feel more like a man than putting on dirty socks directly out of the bath. And the only britches I have clean are the annoying one with snaps in the front that could be sexy on another man, access port and all, but they always come undone when I don't want them to. That's where the lazy comes in, hating so having to snap underpants.

So what's a gal to do? I'll probably just break down and start the bath soon after posting this, then I can sit in the steam and wonder why in the hell I just offered the world a story about worn out underwear, overly musky crotch and the like. It's all for you that I do this, humbling myself before the gods of the blogs. They have no more mercy than the Balrog, but at least they won't drag me into the pit.