I know what area of my body is bound to be the cleanest at any given time. It is always my chest. This is because the majority of my bathing the past few years has taken place inside of extremely tiny showers, and I don’t really feel like doing a complicated maneuver to be able to wash my legs. I stretch pretty much all day every day, and I still have a hard time soaping up my whole body in these minuscule Israeli showers.
You would have to be a veteran cirque du soleil performer to be able to comfortably maneuver in the shower that I am provided with. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was all the auditions for Cirque consisted of. They wheel out a classic Israeli shower and tell people they have to clean themselves without knocking over the soap container and breaking the cap, without bumping into the handle and causing the temperature to get thrown completely out of whack, without banging against the glass so hard you are legitimately worried it might crack, and without becoming claustrophobic because the ceiling slants downward and just barely clears the top of the shower door. That ceiling is really eerie. It gives the illusion that you are completely sealed into a tiny, watery prison. Continue reading “My Shower Woes”