Shower Conversations

I love our new shower. We spent ten years sharing the one down the hall with the kids. Our bathroom still lacks a sink as the remodeling process stretches on, but I can now happily shower away from the kids. Usually.

Shortly after we installed it, Jane walks in to use the toilet. As she sits there, she watches me take a shower. “Isn’t it kind of weird to take a shower where everyone can see you?”

“Well, honey, most people don’t open closed doors to come into my bathroom so it’s usually not a problem.”

“Oh. Right.”

Sometimes I think a light must go on in the hallway whenever I turn on the water. That light signals to the children that now would be an excellent time to try to talk to me. I can count on Hal opening the door and whining about whatever is going on in the house that he objects to. Daryl has tried to bring me school papers to sign.

Just this morning, Jane pokes her head in. I hear, “Mommy, where is your {words lost in the drone of the water}”

“Jane, you will have to come in here if you want to talk to me. I can’t hear you. And close the door. You are letting in all the cold air.” (The heater is another item still missing in the remodel and I despise being cold.)

She walks right up beside the shower door. “Where is your leg blower?”

I stare back at her. “WHAT?!

“Where is your leg blower?”

I stop moving and ask again. “What?”

Getting frustrated, she moves her hand up and down her leg, almost as if she’s shaving, and repeats herself.

Replaying the words carefully, contemplating her pantomime, and studying her attire (she’s wearing black pants), I figure it out: “Where is your leg roller?”

She wants to know where the lint roller is. I give her some suggestions on where to look (my bathroom is still in disarray, remember?). She heads out and I resume my ablutions.

My husband soon walks in and I repeat the exchange to him. I comment that I don’t know why the kids try to talk to me in the shower. Then I start telling him about how the previous day had gone for me. While talking about a woman in my yoga-at-work class, I say, “We always park next to each other.”

“You park next to each other?” He sounds surprised.

“Yes, every day. It’s kind of funny.”

He begins to laugh.

Encouraged, I continue, “Whichever of us gets there first parks at the very end. The other one then parks…”

I trail off because he is laughing harder now. “You didn’t hear what I said, did you?” he asks.

“You asked if we park next to each other.”

“No, I asked if you FART next to each other and then you said, ‘Yes, every day. It’s kind of funny.'” He laughs some more. “I think maybe you shouldn’t have ANY conversations while in the shower.”

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