Wednesday, October 5, 2011

The Work Shower

So this is what it's come to: the work shower.

I could blow the next 10 minutes telling you how I've been too busy to shower, much less pamper myself, but instead I will explain everything in three and a half words (because one is a contraction): I'm a mom.

And last week, I literally packed up my soap and razor (forgot the shaving cream, but that's the least of my problems) to bring to work. So I could shower. And shave. To save my marriage. And my dignity. No offense, peace-loving hippies. None taken, of course; you're peace-loving.

That was my idea of "me time." Who, me? I'd forgotten about her.

No time to shower this morning, but I'll squeeze it in between interviews. Awesome! I'll even bring my special Pangea Organics body wash. Awesomer!

I didn't even realize how truly pathetic I had become until I told a friend.

Me: Sorry I missed your text. I was showering.

Unsuspecting friend: Oh, are you at home today?

Me: No, I used the shower in the work bathroom.

Sympathetic friend: Ew, I'm sorry.

Me: Sorry? Oh, yeah, I mean, ew, yeah, gross.

Concerned friend: Is yours all dark and moldy, too?

Me: Of course it is.

Repulsed friend: Yeah. That's the very description of "work shower." They're one step below truck-stop shower and one tiny step above washing your feet in the Conoco toilet. I always wondered who used the work shower.

Me: Now you know: moms.

Maybe it was my confession, or my realization, or maybe it was actually true, but after my work shower, I felt dirtier than I felt before I stepped into that dark, moist, tile-covered cave just past the breast-pumping table. And I began to dream about other spa treatments that don't require a tetanus shot first.

Photo by Flickr user stevendepolo.

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