Bust Bather

I didn't shower yesterday in honor of the blizzard and having no school.  School was called off again today but I think I would be pushing it if I put off bathing for another day.

If it wasn't for Mitch giving me so much crap about it, I think I could go for days and days without hygiene.  Sometimes Mitch and I shower together and not because we are so incredibly in love that we can't stand to be apart for the length of time it would take one of us to shower individually, but because we are old and married and have no more boundaries.  There is nothing romantic or sexy about our mutual shower time. Mitch mostly points out flaws in my washing technique.  But come on, how could my legs possibly get dirty in the winter, Mitch.  If I wash them and they aren't dirty, they will just get dry and scaly and disgusting.  No thank you!

The other day while in the shower with Mitch, I made the mistake of thinking out loud and said, "Oh crap, I washed my arms,"  which was a shower showstopper.  Much like I don't like itchy legs, I also don't like itchy arms so why scrub perfectly clean-enough arms every day?  Mitch then tried to admonish me by pointing out that I only wash the parts that show and then he drew an imaginary line on my body separating the parts I wash from the parts I don't wash.  He said it was like a bust.  This kind of bust:

My hair and my face and my pits are all in there, so what's the problem?*  He then said something sassy about hooker baths and wallowing in my own lanolin but I wasn't listening.  I was already out of the shower and dressed by then.  Another benefit of doing a half-assed job in the shower:  Not having to listen to the super-clean, self-righteous albeit incredibly itchy super-bathers because they are still in the shower washing and rewashing parts that weren't dirty in the first place.  I've got better things to do.  

*just for the record, there are other, shall we say, 'islands' of body that get washed regularly.