Wishy-washy
It’s fucking ridiculous, how excited I get over ’shower days’. I’m like a junior high school girl, mooning over her first dance.
I think about the shower all day; no matter what I do to distract myself, my thoughts return to it over and over. I plot exactly the order in which I will do everything:
“Shave, moisturize, wash hair, slap on conditioner…No! Shave, scrub and exfoliate, moisturize, wash hair, slap on conditioner, generally luxuriate under the spray, mmmmm….”
I elaborately plan exactly which products I will use, and when, and in what manner. I start all this nonsense at ten ay emm and keep it up until Maxim comes home –his poor little exhausted caring-for-me self– and I expose my hair-sprouting pits by raising my arms in victory while crying “SHOWWWWWERRRR DAY-AYYYYYY! YEAH!” with a great deal of very genuine enthusiasm.
Holy hell, I sure can’t wait to return to daily, full, wonderfully delicious showers or baths. I’m sick with that shit.







4 worked it out »