This is my 100th blog post. And like any every other important milestone in my life (30th birthday, fifth annual Christmas party, ten-year anniversary reunion of the cast of Friends), I’ve been preparing for this moment for an absurd amount of time – say, since around post 11. What day should I post? What will I wear? What topic will best mark the occasion?
After the seemingly inexhaustible list of possibilities finally became exhausting, I settled on today, yoga pants and a tank top, and a topic that has recently become the second place holder on my pet peeve list – The Shower Affair, (first place is when someone ends a sentence with “so…” and expects me to do the rest of the work).
Humans today are in a serious relationship with the Shower, but the romance started out rocky. Back in our caveman days, whenever we were feeling particularly dirty, we’d take a quick dip in whatever pool of water was closest then wouldn’t return for months. As we evolved to stay in one place, the Shower suddenly became more attractive. We started courting the Shower and spending more time together – it even got its own space on the bedside table for a casual morning rinse. As the years passed the relationship improved, suddenly we needed the Shower daily – sometimes more than once – and eventually we succumbed, we committed, we let the Shower move in and gave it a whole room of its own. What was once a quick dunk in the “crick” or swish in the wash basin has become a twice-daily date with our most frequented spot in the house.
Today, our love for the Shower is borderline co-dependent. We buy it nice things, we dress it up, when we’ve had a rough day it’s the first place we turn – but we get mighty perturbed when we slip in for a visit and notice the knob is a few degrees to the right, or a stranger’s hair is in the drain. And apparently, it doesn’t like it when we stray either.
I was just in Arizona visiting my mom for the weekend and got to try out her fancy newly renovated guest shower. Mom, as any good hostess would, offered to give me a tour. The one handle looked simple enough, so I passed on the Handle Turning 101 class and happily hopped inside with my Pantene. Four frustrating minutes later I was yelling for my mommy to help me get the water hot. How is it that after a lifetime of showers (12,000ish for me – whip out your calculator if you must), we still need an instruction manual every time we step in a foreign bathtub? Eventually I enjoyed it, but it came with a price. It was like bad karma for cheating on the loyal shower waiting for me at home.
The Shower Affair can’t be avoided. Whether on a business trip, vacation, or visiting a friend’s home, we always experience that moment of dread when we step into an unfamiliar shower. Will we find one handle? Two knobs? Two knobs and a pully thing? One knob and a dial? Two shower heads and one knob? Will we be forced to suffer a freezing head dip in the tub because the pully thing defies logic and doesn’t actually operate the shower head? Will we be on the phone with the Hyatt night operator begging for shower assistance with suds in our hair?
So Kohler, Delta, Moen, other shower-makers of the world – please oh please get together with whoever makes those awesome Japanese toilets with all the buttons on the side and do something about this conundrum. In the meantime, I’ll accept the Handle Turning 101 class when offered, and know that I have a really good thing waiting for me when I get home.
Anyone else ever get burned by shower disloyalty?