Okay, call it a first-world-problem, but I hate cold showers. Especially after a miserable few days like these, a cold shower just tops it right off. You know what I'm talking about when I mean cold showers? I assume you do. You've all showered before. At least I hope you have. And I don't mean cold showers as in no hot water left at all, because unless it's the middle of a forty degree Summer's day, that is a "(expletive here) that" kind of moment. No, I'm talking about the showers where it's the dead of winter and you start the hot water before you even strip off so that there's a nice hot steam radiating through the bathroom chasing away the chills. Then you get in. It goes okay for a few minutes. You start to soap up and scrub away, thinking about what you had for dinner, that movie that you watched yesterday, how the neighbor's dog looks like one of those water pump things when it poops - you know, normal stuff. Then, slowly, the water begins to get colder. You fiddle with the taps, turning the hot up and the cold down, the normal gig. This happens a few times until the cold is completely off and the hot is at the point of unscrewing from the wall. And still, the water becomes colder. At this point, you turn rapidly, like a chicken on a spit, trying to keep an even heat on your cold extremities. It finally reaches lukewarm. You're still half-soaped, still to wash your hair, standing under a jet of water that feels as warm as penguin's butt after a dip in the antarctic slush. Half of you is going "It's not that bad. You can totally take it. You have to shave anyway." The other half is going "Are you (expletive) kidding me!? Do you not know the meaning of body heat!? I could market myself as a new brand of vibrator right now!" The dilemma now is whether to finish the shower and bear the chattering teeth, or to screw it and streak through the house searching for an electric blanket.
My suggestion upon this matter is to scrub like you're being paid a million dollars to beat the world record at it, dress like one of those magic quick-change artists (if you haven't seen any in action, I highly recommend YouTube-ing some - they are as mystifying as they are awesome) and then hightail it back to your warm bed as if there were a hot, naked, willing being of your preferred gender/species in it.
Thank you, thank you. *numerous bows* This random rant was brought to you by inspiration from two Robin Williams movies and the letter F, for cold with an adjective.
Feeling: As described above.
Listening to: These words spoken in Robin William's voice in my head.
Eating: Way too much...
Wearing: The warmest pajamas I own. Plus booties.