Recklessness

I dunno what made me do it, but Dave went out to the market and I decided I was gonna shower, dammit. Maybe it was the fact that I woke up again last night, drenched in sweat (WHAT is causing this??). Maybe it was the fact that my hair hadn't been washed in 4 days (smarm-o-licious). Maybe I was just high from my tea-drinkin', yogurt-eatin' adventure at 5 a.m.? I went for it.

It was all going so well - still need to sponge-bathe because my drain incisions are not quite closed, so I did that, shaved the legs - at these tasks I am now a pro. It's not graceful or pretty, but between our trusty teak shower bench and the hand-held shower head thingy, I can get the job done.

But then I decided to get fancy.

I dried off my top, and suited up in my Shower Shirt - click on the hyperlink if you don't know what this thing is . . . basically a shortened, super-tight, waterproof windbreaker - complete with pink ribbon (ugh) that allows you to shower without getting your (upper-body) incisions wet. It's genius. I only wish I'd get more use out of it - but wait! don't get me wrong - I'm psyched to have my drains out so early.

Anyway. I get the shirt on, no problem, ratchet in the neck and away I go - bending over, washing MY OWN HAIR for the FIRST TIME IN WEEKS. Scrubbing my scalp, working up a lather, just like I like. I rinsed, and then I even conditioned. Oooh, I was feeling so good. Yes I can!!

I'm done, turn off the water, manage to wrap my hair up in my fav microfiber towel (faster drying for those of us with thick, long hair) and am feeling victorious. I'm tired, but still standing. Now I need to get the Shower Shirt off, dry off, get dressed, and probably take a nap. No problemo.

Oh, but there was a problemo - the zipper on the Shower Shirt broke. I'm alone. I'm struggling. I cannot get the damn thing unzipped. It's super tight - remember, this is supposed to keep water out . . . and between the the fact that someone has drunk the last 2 in my six-pack of abs and the tautness of the jacket, I'm straining to right the zipper.

I step out of the shower and yell hopefully, "Dave!!??" No answer. Not home yet. I briefly consider cutting the shower shirt off of my body with a pair of nail scissors. That seems tragic.

Finally, after much straining and a multitude of f-bombs, I got the zipper back on track and the shirt off. And then guess who gets home? Dave. He finds me red-faced, but triumphant.

Cheers to independence, however hard-fought! Now, time for that nap.

xo,

Sarah